Resolute, a Pride and Prejudice variation
by A-Novel-on-a-Whim
Summary: What if Mr. Bingley had not followed Darcy's advice, but followed his heart instead? How different would things be for Darcy and Elizabeth if Jane and Bingley had become engaged right after the Netherfield Ball and Bingley hadn't gone to London? Misunderstandings, arguments and some plot twists along the way. Of course with love and angst included. hope you enjoy & please review!
1. Chapter 1

Thank you to my wonderful beta, Catapapalilar, you've been quick and effective and I cannot thank you enough!

Chapter One

"Darcy, for the last time, Mortimer is quite capable of handling the situation himself. There is really no dire need for me to return to London so soon... I... I am eager to remain in Hertfordshire, for a little longer anyway." Mr. Bingley paced back and forth across from the desk, one hand gesturing at the empty space in front of him, the other behind his back.

Darcy sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back into the leather, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Bingley, Mortimer is a good... enough... sort of man, but his... resources are limited." He raised his head and looked at his friend in earnest. "You cannot entrust him to handle all your business in your absence," he said with conviction.

Mr. Robert Mortimer was a business associate of Mr. Bingley's. He had inherited his share but did not generally hold great sway within the ventures. As Darcy said, he was a good enough sort of man but lacked certain traits required in the position Bingley held, intellect being one. Bingley had put him in charge of his more general and mundane tasks while he was away, jobs that no one, no matter how witless, could mess up. However, when something of greater and more serious magnitude came up, Bingley would be forced into London to see to it personally.

Bingley stopped, frowned, opened his mouth to speak then closed it, and resumed pacing. "I can... Send instructions." he said after completing a lap across the rug.

Darcy suppressed a roll of his eyes. "Charles, even if you were to actually seat yourself behind the escritoire and put ink to paper, which we both know to be a very rare occurrence indeed, it would not be enough. Instruction is of little use when one does not have the facts at hand." Darcy let out a sigh of exasperation. "As a businessman, I cannot allow you to do this. You must get back to London post haste."

Mr. Bingley had allowed a rather significant amount of business to accumulate during his time in Hertfordshire. He was not a neglectful businessman, but he had put off several scheduled trips to town since he had arrived. Or rather since he had met a certain angel by the name of Miss Jane Bennet. He had spent a whole night with her at the ball, a whole night on the verge of proposing, a whole night restraining his every instinct to take her in his arms and kiss her. He knew his attentions had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the attendance of the Netherfield ball, but what did he care? They would be engaged soon anyway... Wouldn't they? Would she accept him? Did she love him? Need more time? No. He had to do it, he simply had to. And soon. If he left now he would have to wait even longer to have his answer, and he could not bear the suspense.

Bingley turned to his friend sat in the chair behind the large desk. Darcy was studying him his eyes hard and dark, his elbows on the arms of the chair, fingers steepled with his long legs outstretched whilst his head inclined slightly toward the anxious Mr. Bingley.

"Ah, yes," thought Bingley. "There sits the Master of Pemberly, foreboding and commanding. Well, I will not be moved, not this time, old boy."

"Yes Darcy. You are correct, once again. I shall return to town... Tomorrow." He spoke aloud this time, looking to the other gentleman directly.

Darcy relaxed, a vaguely triumphant look playing across his serious and detached mien. "I'm glad you see the sense in it." He spoke whilst raising himself from the chair, and then made his way around the desk to his friend. "Although... there is no need to delay, Bingley. You can leave today, it is still early." He was now but a few feet from Bingley and looking almost smug.

But Mr. Bingley would not kowtow, not in this. "No Darcy, I think not." he stated with an edge of defiance Darcy had rarely heard from his friend of such amiable temperament. "I have a few matters to attend to before going and one in particular which will not wait. You know I am resolute in this." Bingley stared with a half stern, half questioning look to Mr. Darcy.

Darcy's expression hardened again but he did not speak, his mind busy calculating the best strategy. He was not a liar, deceit of any kind was abhorrent to him and he certainly would not mislead his closest friend. Still, he felt he must save him! As a matter of honour, he could not allow Bingley to be ensnared by a matchmaking mama the likes of a Mrs. Bennet. Good Lord, what ruin it would bring to tie oneself to such a family! No woman is worth that price. "Elizabeth is," whispered a voice at the back of his head. He dismissed the thought as fast as it had come, his eyes narrowing with determination.

Bingley could not bear Darcy's brooding silence. He began to panic, and his resolve to stare down the Master Of Pemberly broke. "Egad, man!" Bingley cried. Darcy started, broken from his reverie, and he eyed Bingley seriously. "I will not be dissuaded in this, Darcy. I will settle the carriage arrangements for the morning, have Wexley pack few things for the trip and I will leave for town tomorrow morning... Engaged to Miss Bennet."

Darcy threw his arms out in exasperation, turned away from Bingley and stalked toward the hearth. "Bingley, we have spoken of this," he said begrudgingly. "You will be the laughing stock of the ton."

"I care not two wits what the ton thinks. And you are wrong." Darcy flashed him a look of indignation at such an insult but Bingley would not be balked. "Come man, she is an absolute angel. They will fall at her feet!"

"Her affability is not in question here, Charles. It is her connections and fortune that I implore, neigh, insist you consider. Her uncles include an attorney and a tradesman, her mother doesn't have two wits to rub together and her younger sisters are just as bad, if not worse," he barked, turning his head to glare at his friend.

Bingley looked crestfallen for a moment but swiftly regained composure.

Darcy's face softened and he turned back to the face the fire. Leaning one arm across the mantle and resting a boot on the grate he spoke again. "I grant you the eldest two Miss Bennets are perfectly amiable, their manners are not lacking, and they are, both, every bit accomplished." he said, somewhat wistfully.

Bingley's face rose slightly at this, a look of hope crossing his eyes. But Darcy was not here to encourage. "But consider, Bingley, if not for your own sake, then for your sisters'. What would it cost them to go through with this?" he said seriously.

Charles hesitated for but a moment before proclaiming, "Darcy, Caroline's dowry is fortune enough to attract many a man above her station, and Louisa has Hurst's connections, and fortune for that matter. I cannot believe that my marrying Ja..." Bingley stumbled over the familiar name that he had no right to speak, at least not yet. "Miss Bennet," he amended grudgingly, "would do so much damage." He said the last with an air of finality, his hands clasped behind his back and a stern gaze directed at the other gentleman.

Darcy turned his most austere gaze on him. To any observer, astute or not, the display could have been said to be likened to a small, recalcitrant puppy and a wolf sizing each other up before an attack.

But Bingley would not be pulled in any further. He closed his eyes and dropped his hands to his side, his head falling as he shook it slightly. "I cannot say I do not wish to have your support, Darce, but I will go through with this, with or without your approval." Bingley then, with one glance at Mr. Darcy's unmoved expression, walked towards the door of the study.

Darcy had one last card to play. He had hoped he would not have to, as he could not bear to see his friend pained, but what else was there left? "Can you be sure, Bingley? Do you know if she feels the way you do? Wants to marry you? Loves you?" he said gravely as he stood stoic and still, staring at Bingley from across the room, his eyes a mixture of earnest sincerity and pity.

Bingley looked up to him, his hand tight around the doorknob. "That," he said sternly, "is what I intend to find out." He opened the door and left the study without a second glance back.

~oOo~

Longbourn was in uproar. From the farthest room upstairs to the kitchens below-stairs, there was not a single room where the shrill cries of Mrs. Bennet could not be heard. "You obstinate girl! Ungrateful child! How could you do this to Mr. Collins? To us! You would see us all turned out into the hedgerows!"

Elizabeth walked away from the parlour, where Lydia and Kitty barely fought to suppress their giggling. Mary was at the door with pale shock written across her face, Jane with concern and embarrassment on hers, and Mr. Collins with an unbelieving look of indignation clearly portrayed on his own rather crimson face.

She walked deliberately, with her arms folded defiantly as she made her way toward her father's study. Her mother followed close behind, red in the face and arms flailing, her indignation proving itself to be as visible as it was audible.

The door to the study opened and Mr. Bennet stood in the door frame, looking equal parts amused and displeased before schooling his features into a look of intrigue, as if he hadn't heard Mrs. Bennets effusions.

"What's all this?" Mr. Bennet asked, arching an eyebrow. "An assembly outside my study? And where, pray tell, is my invitation, dearest daughter?" he asked, turning to Lizzy.

"Oh! Mr. Bennet! How can you vex me so?" Mrs. Bennet wailed. "It is your 'dearest daughter' who causes all the fuss!" She said throwing Lizzy a scathing glare.

"Come, come my dear," said Mr. Bennet, examining his wife over his spectacles. "What exactly is this 'fuss' my Lizzy brings about?"

"YOUR Lizzy has doomed us all! She has, just this morning, destined us for the poorhouse! She would see us all destitute and ruined when you are gone!" she wailed.

"Papa, I cannot, I will not marry him." Elizabeth pleaded with her father. Her face was fixed in an expression of anger and determination, unflinching even with Mrs. Bennets piercing exclamations.

Mr. Bennet looked wearily at his favourite child; they both knew what it was to be the subject of Mrs. Bennet's anger, derision and, more prominently, her 'nerves'. He inhaled slowly as he thought to pity his dear Lizzy. But, upon turning his gaze to Mrs. Bennet, he recalled the fun he could derive from the situation and changed his mind. "Of what, my dear, do you speak? From whence did Elizabeth receive this power over your fortune and situation? For I could have sworn, only minutes ago, that I was the... 'Lucky' soul on whom that responsibility fell."

Mrs. Bennet rolled her eyes. "OH! Mr. Bennet, you would rile my nerves and anger my blood just for your own amusement! That is where this ungrateful Miss finds her impertinence!" she said, gesturing to Elizabeth. "Well I warned you Mr. Bennet, I warned you about filling her head with all that useless gibberish! Latin and mathematics! What would a respectable young lady want with Latin? What man will marry her now?" she said desperately.

"I believe you can think of one." said he with an air of mirth. Elizabeth did not laugh, but rather, looked at her father with the fiercest look she dared. His coaxing took affect swiftly.

Mrs. Bennet let out a cry and threw her head back. "OH! Mr. Bennet, you must make her marry Mr. Collins while he will still have her, though why he should ever have wanted her, I cannot fathom! Lizzy!" she screeched. "If you do not marry Mr. Collins, I will never see you again!" she said with absoluteness.

Mr. Bennet turned to his daughter with a light air and proclaimed, "Lizzy my dear, there is a desolate task before you. You must, I'm afraid, become a stranger to one of your parents from this day forth," he said laughingly. "Your mother will not see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins and I... Will never see you again if you do."

"Oh Mr. Bennet, how can you jest at such a time?" exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. Elizabeth did not see the humour in it at all, her face hardened as Mrs. Bennet's calls became impossibly louder.

Mr. Bennet had had his fun, Elizabeth's glare wasn't lost on him and he decided the situation had lost its humour. He turned a stern look on his wife and said, "Mrs. Bennet, I would sooner see her betrothed to our scullery maid's brother. Even if she had accepted Mr. Collins, my permission would not have been granted." he said gravely. "Now," he continued, his look softening slightly but his voice remaining strong, "this subject is closed, it will not be broached again." He stepped backwards into the study as Mrs. Bennet's face fell and paled. Elizabeth leaned in, threw her arms about her father's neck, kissed his cheek and whispered, "Thank you Papa."

She brushed past a ghostly white Mrs. Bennet and, snatching up her shawl from the hall, made her way out the front door.

How long she walked she did not know. Her pace was fast and she didn't think about where her feet carried her, but she was sure that anywhere in England wasn't far enough.

She had arrived at Oakham mount and turned back again. Deciding it was still too soon to hope that Mrs. Bennet's effusions would be quelled in the slightest, she continued past the road to Longbourn. It wasn't until she reached the boundary of Netherfield Park that she realised just how far she'd gone. She stopped and, staring out across the expanse of a field she gave into exhaustion. She turned and leaned back against the fence, breathing heavily as she brought one hand to her forehead, supporting her weight against the fence with the other.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Across the field stood a great, black steed in repose after a strenuous ride. His rider sat atop, tall and stately, his back strong, straight and elegant, his clothing perfectly pressed and riding boots immaculate. His windswept, unruly hair was the only telltale sign of the exertion after the vigorous flight through the fields. He had left for his ride shortly after speaking with Bingley. "The man is insane!" he thought, "and he'll be truly bound for Bedlam with a mother-in-law like her!"

Darcy grimaced. He knew that it wasn't Bingley he was mad at: it was himself. He danced with her last night, and as she teased him, turning her fine eyes and arch smile on him, he knew he was lost. If he didn't leave now he couldn't trust himself to do the right thing, and he would be just as bad as Bingley.

"Heaven forbid," said Darcy under his breath. He had broken his resolve not to pay her any attention last night, singling her out after watching her all evening, and then she fought with him! She had thrown Wickham at him! ... Not literally, otherwise he would have relished the opportunity to strangle the blackguard. No, she defended the rogue, called him a friend and pitied him. She had been taken in by his lies, HER! Clever, witty, discerning Elizabeth deceived by a common rake! How could she not see through him? What stories had Wickham spun to make Elizabeth believe that HE was the villain in this piece? Boreas, his horse, pulled on the reins. Darcy hadn't realised how his grip had tightened, he loosed the leather and patted Boreas on the neck.

His eyes roamed the grassy plain, the empty expanse a balm to his soul. He felt as though he could ride from one end of the country to the other, and still it would not be far enough. He went to turn his horse but, glancing towards something in his peripheral, he jerked his head back toward the fence on the far left. There she was, the object of his thoughts, illusion of his dreams, the affliction and antidote all at once. A spectre in the distance, but this was no illusion... She was not smiling at him, laughing with him, teasing and tempting him as she always did in his imaginings. The Elizabeth at the fence was in fact there.

The day was cool as clouds blocked the rays of the November sun, a light breeze rustled what little leaves were left on the trees, and the ground was soft and dewy after the morning frost had melted. Darcy's gaze was fixed as he had begun to wend his way toward her, subconsciously guiding Boreas to Elizabeth's whereabouts. He froze when he was close enough to better see her demeanor, just shy of 100 metres behind her. She looked somewhat sullen, and anger was clear from her stance. She thrust a hand into her pocket and withdrew it again. She picked up the corner of her shawls and drew it roughly over her face. She had been crying. Darcy's heart wrenched at the thought.

Elizabeth shut her eyes and, holding her hair back from her face, let the cool breeze sting her tear-stained cheeks. She wasn't upset over her mother, she was used to her ire by now. No, it was more than that; it was her family in general, a combination of her mother's impropriety, Lydia and kitty's ridiculous and indecorous flirting, Mary's stoic and solemn nature, and her fathers decidedly indolent and lackadaisical attitude towards them all. She loved her Father deeply but he was not one for hard work. In fact, if it required leaving his study, he was already going to be dreaming up a way out. He loved her, and he appreciated her, teaching her subjects that a lady could have no use for and, in actual fact, was not supposed to know. He nurtured her thirst for knowledge with Latin texts, Philosophy, math, and even allowed her to glance some writings on agriculture and estate management. She knew more about politics than many young gentlemen did, and certainly was more able to converse on the topic with originality and insight, unlike many the 'educated' young man who would simply learn the textbooks rote. She was the son he didn't have, but he had in essence ignored the rest of her sisters, leading to all but Jane growing up badly lacking.

She sighed, her anger at last run out, and pushed herself away from the fence. She stood for a moment, staring back from whence she came, and then, resigned to her fate, she made her way back.

Darcy watched as she walked away. She had been crying, Elizabeth, crying! Why? She was so strong, so resilient; he couldn't imagine what could cause her to cry unless it was truly distressing. "Wickham!" He blanched at the thought that he could have hurt her, but then remembered the coward had run away to hide in London last night. He looked on as she disappeared across the adjoining field, watching her as she walked out of his reach and out of his sight. He knew he had to leave. It was hard enough to watch her walk away, trying to leave, and to pretend that he had never known a woman like her existed. He would surely be driven insane if he didn't leave soon. He pulled the reins, and he and Boreas made a slow trudge back to the stables.

~oOo~

Elizabeth made her way up the steps of Longbourn and into the entranceway, discarding her shawl and creeping her way toward the stairs. As she passed the parlour, listening hard in an attempt to discern her mother's whereabouts, she froze. "OH! Jane, just think, 'Mrs. Bingley,' oh how well that sounds! Mr. Bingley, you are too good, Sir! You do us such an honour! Thank the man, Jane! Oh my your trousseau, we must go to London for your trousseau!" came the shrill voice of Mrs. Bennet through the heavy wood.

Elizabeth turned to doorknob and, opening the door, peered into the room cautiously. There sat Mary at the table, book in hand, looking pious and unmoved. Lydia and Kitty were, as per usual, giggling over one another and whispering nonsense. Mrs. Bennet sat facing the chaise, which was occupied by her eldest daughter and Mr. Bingley. The couple sat as close as could be considered proper, their bodies inclined to each other and wide unabashed grins across their flushed faces.

Jane glanced over to the door as Elizabeth stepped in, her smile widened and her eyes grew misty. "Oh Lizzy, I am so happy!" she said as she stood.

Mr. Bingley rose behind Jane and exclaimed, "Miss Elizabeth, your dear sister has made me the happiest of men, she has agreed to be my wife! I hope you don't object to a brother in me?"

Elizabeth hurried to her sister's side. "Jane, I could not be more pleased! Mr. Bingley, of course I would love to have you as my brother, especially since it means my sister's perpetual happiness!" she said smiling.

They all smiled brightly, Jane and Elizabeth grasping hands, and Bingley sweetly fawning over his dear angel. Even Mrs. Bennet smiled as she watched her two daughters, that is until Lydia decided to have her share of the conversation. "Lizzy?" said she. "Don't you want to know where your betrothed is?" She laughed and Kitty snorted.

"Lydia!" exclaimed Jane, "Mr. Collins is not to be made fun of, it is very cruel of you," she pleaded. Lydia looked ever so slightly contrite and then burst into laughter again, before leaving the conversation to ask Kitty about the ghastly dress she'd seen on Miss King yesterday. It was enough, though, to remind Mrs. Bennet of the morning's debacle.

"Yes Miss Lizzy, you must not think for a moment you are forgiven for I shall never ever forgive you. You must bear that in mind, for I shall be far too busy with dear, sweet Jane's wedding to remind you as often as you deserve! To lose a mother's esteem is a grave loss indeed!" Elizabeth and Jane flushed and glanced to Mr. Bingley, who looked confused and embarrassed for a moment but then returned his gaze to Jane, who flushed even deeper. Elizabeth turned to her mother, her eyes pleading her to stop. It worked. "Oh... Well, I suppose it does not matter now. I shall begin plans for the wedding post haste." Her eyes softened as she looked into the distance and sighed, "Mrs. Bingley..."

~oOo~

"Lizzy, I am so happy! He loves me, Lizzy! He loves ME! I do not deserve such admiration from such a man, he is so perfect, Lizzy!" her sister said as she walked through the door then fell back on Elizabeth's bed and laughed.

Elizabeth smiled at her dearest sister, closing the door she held open, and crossed the room. She lay on her side next to Jane, propped up on her elbow as she smiled down at her. "Dear, sweet Jane, you do deserve this, trust me! You both are quite deserving of one another and very much in love, I dare say!"

"You shall be my bridesmaid won't you, Lizzy? I cannot ask another, it must be you. Oh Lizzy, it all seems so surreal, so dreamlike!"

"Well, it is not a dream Jane, no matter how often you have seen Mr. Bingley in your sleep, I can assure you this is very much real," laughed Elizabeth as Jane blushed.

The two spoke late into night, both aware that their night-time conferences were soon to be brought to a close when Jane left.

The next morning, Elizabeth rose with the sun, as they were due to visit Netherfield for tea. Elizabeth was not looking forward to spending time with Mr. Darcy or Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, but she would not leave Jane alone in their clutches. She knew what they thought of the society here; she had seen the looks that had passed between the two during their stay in Hertfordshire, even heard some of the barbs they'd shared. "They may like Jane, but they certainly don't bear the rest of her family with any affability or manners," she thought. "That will have to do I suppose, besides, Mr. Bingley will take great care of her I am sure."

In fact, Bingley was so very determined to have his dear Jane and take such very great care of her that he had spent the better part of yesterday arguing and coaxing his two elder sisters. He went from kind and pleading, to reasoning, and finally to threats. And threatening was something Bingley did not do. Such a rare occurrence was it, in fact, that Caroline and Louisa sat silenced and dumbfounded for over a minute; just enough time for Mr. Bingley to say his piece.

"Look here, I've had quite enough. I will be marrying Jane." He stopped after blurting out her Christian name, for although he may have a right to speak it now, with his two quickly sickening sisters, he thought a little moderation of his affections was in order.

"Miss Jane Bennet," he amended, "and we will live here. At Netherfield." He continued, with a slight anxiousness. "And if you cannot accept that then you can... Can... Leave. Louisa, if you are so desperate to return to town, you and Mr. Hurst may go." he said matter of factly. But his voice became grave as he turned to the second lady. "Caroline..." He let out a sigh. "I cannot have you ruin things between me and Miss Bennet. You can go with the Hursts or to our aunt in Scarborough if you cannot maintain enough civility to stay here. You must accept that Jane shall be my bride and her family must be treated as our own. I cannot allow you to degrade them any further!" She grimaced, she had fought with him for hours and he'd refused to back down. Usually it only took a little coaxing to bend Charles' arm, but in this he was unmoving. Caroline Bingley swallowed and, with no small amount of pain, she accepted his terms.

The morning passed quickly, with little worth mentioning; Caroline was sullen and moody, but reined in her temper in the presence of her houseguest, Mr. Darcy. Her ire was aimed where Charles would not get word of it, the servants. Her mark at present was Abigail, who was currently fixing her coiffure for the pending tea. "No, no, no, NO! Really is it so difficult? It is a few twists and simple knots, start again!" The poor girl took out the hairpins for the third time that hour and began again. She was accustomed to Miss Bingley by now, and knew how she primped and preened to excess for even an afternoon tea, even more so when Mr. Darcy was about.

Caroline looked into the glass, imagining how easily her new maid would fashion her hair when she was Mrs. Darcy. "And if the half wit Abigail couldn't handle placing a few hair pins, she'd be paid in them until she could." She thought, smiling crookedly at her reflection.

Mr. Bingley paced the parlour in anticipation, stopping every few minutes to imagine how it would be when Jane was mistress... He stared off into the distance, a silly grin on his face, eyes dreamy and head fallen to one side. He was lovesick.

Mr. and Mrs. Hurst sat apart from one another, Mr. Hurst on a chaise, already reclining slightly, thinking about food and hunting. Mrs. Hurst sat upright on a small plush chair by the fire, playing with her bracelets and rings, thinking about nothing in particular except, perhaps, bracelets and rings.

Darcy was less inclined to daydream, it was far too dangerous as he knew exactly where his thoughts would lead him; he'd be in the throes of a romantic nuance about Elizabeth in seconds if he wasn't careful, picturing her as she walked the grounds at Pemberly, smiled blissfully, teasing him and bringing forth his laughter.

He raked a hand through his hair and, his hand grasping the his unruly curls at the back of his head, he let out a groan and allowed his head to fall back into the chair he occupied, un-clasping the hand which trapped his locks. He had been trying to read more than a single page of... whatever book he held, without being distracted and was failing miserably; somehow he'd wound up sat exactly where he had when he and Elizabeth had found themselves together in the Netherfield library. She was so perfect, so serene, her eyes bright and curious as she read, the corners of her lips curling up ever so slightly when amused... What he would give to kiss those lips. She was bewitching: beautiful, witty, fearless, perfect and yet so irrevocably beneath his consideration! It was a cruel twist of fate, hateful, painful torture to his sensibilities! "But there is no other like her..." he murmured.

He shook his head as he growled and pushed himself forcibly up from the chair. He could not continue this way, it was ridiculing! The master of Pemberly acting like a lovesick fool… But he was not in love! No. It was merely an infatuation... "Bordering on obsession if I'm not careful!" he thought.

Mr. Darcy had never been in love; in fact Mr. Darcy had never been in anything as far as matters of the heart went. He could certainly appreciate the fairer sex, he knew what was considered beauty by the fashionable classes and he even knew what he found attractive. However, from past experience, the women who had held any noteworthy features had a tendency to shatter any appreciation he had when they began simpering and fawning over him. Their propitiation was sickening and, though considered to be quite accomplished, they had nothing original to say. They were well read, but they simply spewed forth whatever opinion the schoolmaster had told them or, more often than not, whatever was the 'fashionable' opinion.

He had, of course, thought about a wife, but she was a faceless figure, a Mistress for Pemberly, sister for Georgiana and friend, confidant and partner for himself. But over these weeks she had taken on a face, the face that haunted his dreams, and she had a voice, a laugh, which was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. And those eyes, her eyes... He shook his head, this had to stop, he WOULD defeat this infatuation! He'd go back to London and forget all about Hertfordshire and impertinent country misses.

With this resolution in mind he began to deliberate of his best means of escape. He could not lie to Bingley, but he could always use business as an excuse, as there was, after all, always business for him to attend to. That was all he did really: business. His whole life had become work; he worked for Pemberly and Darcy House, his tenants and servants all needed him. He worked for his sister, at providing her a good education, life and future. He worked for his family, his cousin, aunts and uncles all needing him for various reasons. Even Bingley needed him, considering he was here now to teach him to manage an estate and he had certainly saved him from many a scrape in the past. How could he be anything BUT a paragon on honour and duty? Fitzwilliam Darcy looked back and thought over the past 6 years of his life and realised he could no longer remember the last time his days hadn't felt like drudgery. He dragged a hand over his face, willing his mind to turn to the problem he faced: how to escape Hertfordshire.

Bingley had already started talking about the wedding and, although he hadn't actually asked Darcy to stand up with him yet, he'd been saying things like, "I'll be shaking like a leaf, I'm sure, Darce! That'll be your job... To steady me that is!" It went without saying, really, for they were like brothers and it was like an unstated agreement that they'd stand as groomsman for the other. He only hoped that Bingley wouldn't ask him to stay here, so long before the wedding. He couldn't stay, not now; he had to abate this foolishness, this ridiculous unrelenting embarrassment, for it was just that, an embarrassment! How could HE, a Darcy, be drawn in by nothing more than a pretty face and a pair of fine eyes! "...But she is so much more than that," he thought, before he banished the unwelcome musing to the depths of his mind. He had to leave, and soon.

~oOo~

By the time Jane and Elizabeth arrived, Darcy had managed to fix his face into an expressionless stare, making him look austere as never before. His hard, dark eyes gave a swift examination of the guests as he bowed curtly and gave his succinct greetings before he turned to the window again. Elizabeth was seated in a chair adjacent to Miss Bingley's, while Jane and Mr. Bingley sat on a chaise together. Mr. Hurst excused himself on business, and Mrs. Hurst feigned a headache, which was regarded with a bitter scowl from her sister.

Bingley made an effort to encompass everyone into the conversation at first, but his attentions soon turned solely to Jane and his voice dropped a little to give some semblance of privacy. The other three occupants of the room could not have felt the awkwardness more keenly. Miss Bingley had no interest in speaking to Elizabeth and, as much as she'd love to indulge Mr. Darcy's brooding, she could hardly start discussion the failings of Hertfordshire society while she sat with them! Elizabeth regarded her sister and soon-to-be brother and smiled, thinking how serene they were together. She had little to say to anyone else in the room, and as far as Miss Bingley was concerned, they had an unacknowledged agreement to simply be in disapproval of each other, and not attempt any conversation that could heighten or lessen that, the latter being highly unlikely. By now Mr. Darcy must be well aware of how she saw him after making her knowledge of his treatment towards Wickham evident. "He could hardly expect someone who knows his true character to engage in any conversation with him," she mused inwardly.

Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, had almost forgotten about the conversation at the ball, or even Wickham for that matter, for his mind had been so engaged upon alternating thoughts of Elizabeth and finding a way to leave Netherfield that he had no capacity to recall what was said between them as they danced that night. So he glared out of the window, feeling, for the first time in many years, lost.

It was in the midst of this silence that Miss Bingley seemed to regain her voice. "Miss Eliza, there is so little amusement to be found here in Hertfordshire, I do not know how you can tolerate it! I long to be about the ton," she said, her voice dripping with poisoned sweetness.

Elizabeth pulled her eyes from Mr. Darcy's back, not realising she had been staring at his broad, stiff shoulders. "I cannot say I agree Miss Bingley. I find little enjoyment about the ton myself, save for the theatre and a few other aspects, and I see no great advantage over the beauty of the country," she said.

"Well," began Caroline, "I suppose that when one moves in the right circles, one finds more pleasure in what they have to offer during a season." she said, glancing to Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth was in no mood to be the subject of another deluded woman's derision. She had been putting up with her mother's for long enough since refusing Mr. Collins, and so she chose to engage in whatever web Miss Bingley was attempting to spin, confident that her wit exceeded that of the lady. "You would rather be situated in London for the better part of the year then?" she asked.

"Why yes, it is the wont of most families within the... Higher circles, you see."

"I do, and I suppose that in a country estate, your accomplished social skills would be rather wasted," said Elizabeth, gesturing to the surrounding estate.

Miss Bingley's eyes lit up at this as she replied. "You have quite no idea. I long for the finer society I have become accustomed to. I often find those who are not exposed to London society enough in life are... Lacking." she said, looking somewhat pityingly at Elizabeth but ever the victor.

Bingley and Jane had remained oblivious to the conversation around them, but at some point during its execution, Mr. Darcy had turned around and stepped closer. Elizabeth looked over to him and, with bold mirth in her eyes and a barely concealed smile, she said, "Mr. Darcy, I understand that you spend the majority of your year at your estate, do you not? What is your opinion on the influence of the country to that of the ton? Does it truly deplete ones senses so?" she asked and watched from the corner of her eye as Miss Bingley's face paled and her mouth fell in a most unbecoming manner. Mr. Darcy smirked and looked admiringly at the witty woman before him as she met his gaze a lifted her chin in defiance.

"My sister and I do spend the better part of our year at Pemberly, yes. Neither of us finds the attractions that London offers particularly engaging... Save for the theatre of course."

She was a little taken aback. Was Mr. Darcy actually agreeing with her, encouraging her? No doubt this was some cruel joke he had formulated. She thought it safest not to go on, for though she may have caught Miss Bingley on her slip up, Mr. Darcy was no fool. She could just imagine the sort of game he could pull her into. So, she merely smiled and raised an eyebrow as she turned back to a thoroughly chagrined Caroline Bingley. By now the latter had regained some composure and was anxious to seek her revenge.

"Miss Eliza, I am so very sorry that we could not accommodate all the... Fine friends I'm sure you had hoped to see at the ball last week; you and your younger sisters must have been most despondent for the lack of... Certain people." She glanced at Mr. Darcy as she said it, raising her eyebrows as if to jest but he walked over to the mantle, his brow stern again and hands tight behind his back.

"I'm afraid I have not the pleasure of knowing who you could mean, Miss Bingley," said Lizzy cautiously.

Caroline's lips curled and she leaned towards Elizabeth as though sharing a secret, but was sure to speak loud enough for Darcy to hear. "I understand that several ladies have found the society of 'particular' officers to their liking. It was a shame that some of them had not been able to attend. I am sure your family must have felt the loss keenly." At this Mr. Darcy started. He really had let the meeting with Wickham slip his mind, how could he be so careless? It simply served as stronger proof that his hasty departure would be vital.

During his musings, Elizabeth had turned to Miss Bingley with an arch smile and, with subtle humour in her voice, she replied. "It was borne as well as could be expected. Though I'm sure that there are 'some' who did not notice any of the guests... The lack thereof, that is... of course." She said, glancing toward Bingley and her sister before turning a somewhat triumphantly knowing smile back on Miss Bingley. The latter grimaced slightly and gave a perfunctory "indeed."

The room fell into silence, save for the murmured converse between Jane and Bingley, as the ladies sipped tea and Darcy plotted his escape, forcing his eyes to cease their straying to the beauty that was his captor. The ladies eventually left to peruse the house and rooms which would soon be Jane's, the lady herself reluctantly tearing her gaze from her betrothed.

Mr. Darcy was usually a perceptive individual, and he prided himself on his ability to discern most situations and people, but as of late he seemed to miss an awful lot. In fact, had he merely looked up from his brooding to where his friend and Miss Bennet sat, he would have seen the look of arrant love written across her face. And if he'd looked at what was apparent rather than what, in his arrogance, he expected to see in Elizabeth's features as she looked at him, he would have seen ridicule and contempt, not the playfulness or coquettish wiles. He knew she was witty and not like any other woman of his acquaintance, and he found her to be even more handsome than any woman he'd met! But she had to be using some form of feminine artifice to entrance him, or so he had, in his supercilious manner, allowed himself to believe.

And so, being so wholly unaware of how witless he was being and with his usual conceited bravado, he turned to Bingley and said, "I hope you do not regret your decision, Charles. There is little that can be done now, but I sincerely hope your spontaneity has not served you ill in this." Bingley stared at Darcy, dumb founded.

"Are you completely mad, man? Do you mean to tell me that even after all you have seen and heard between Jane and I, you still believe her indifferent?" Darcy turned to face him directly, slightly taken aback by Mr. Bingley's abruptness.

"All I have seen, Charles, is that she is unchanged in her attentions toward you. And it is quite impossible to hear anything which passes between the two of you since you refuse to speak loud enough to include anyone else in your conversation." Bingley coloured a little but the sense of shock that overcame him shone through.

"Good God, Darcy! You really are an arrogant ass at times. Jane... Miss Bennet has declared herself most vehemently on several occasions, and again this morning, rather too loudly in fact. Did you not notice the way Caroline spirited her off as a result? I thought you more astute than that." Darcy stared, blinked hard and then shook his head; he really was losing his mind.

"Forgive me Charles, I do not mean into interfere any further. In fact I must be away to town this week, I should be gone for some time." he said.

"Gracious, man! There's no need to leave, I can see you've been distracted these recent months; I take no offence to your not noticing Jane's affections. I..."

Darcy winced and broke in. "Bingley, it has nothing to do with that. I have business of my own to attend to," he said sternly before softening his voice, looking at his friend and saying, "Please, forgive me if I have been... neglectful. I have had... A lot to consider as of late." He twisted his signet ring and his brow darkened as he shrunk back into himself.

Bingley walked over to his friend and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Darcy, you always have my assistance... in anything, and my ear if you need it!"

Darcy gave a halfhearted smile and nodded at his friend. "Yes Bingley, and I thank you... I will leave in two days time."

A.N: the reviews are so motivating


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Darcy stared out the window of the carriage as it drove away from Netherfield, through the streets of Meryton, and then out of Hertfordshire. He gazed out into the trees, then town, and then across the expanse of the fields. He saw nothing. His mind did not wander, his eyes barely moved and his breathing was cautiously steady. He knew, at the very back of his mind, that he did not have the strength this would take. He could feel it with each passing mile, each minute, and every turn of the road. But what else could he do? This had gone too far as it was, he had no choice, he would simply have to overcome it.

He reached the Darcy house before nightfall. He walked up the stairs and was let into the hallway. "We are not receiving any calls at present save for Colonel Fitzwilliam and my solicitor or steward." he informed Carter, his butler. He then turned to Mrs. Carter, the housekeeper. "I shall be in need of a bath, and I will have a tray brought to my room this evening, as I intend to retire early." She acknowledged his request and immediately set two footmen and a maid about on the errands.

Mrs. Carter and her husband had been in service with the Darcys for five and twenty years now. They had started when Fitzwilliam Darcy had been but a babe, not yet three years of ages. They had seen him grow into a fiercely loyal friend, brother and son and had watched as he suffered so silently when each of his parents were taken from him. He had once been more open, less taciturn and jovial in some ways. He had smiled more as a younger man and used to laugh freely when his mother was still living. They had loved Mr. and Mrs. Darcy dearly and in turn both of the Darcy children had taken a place in their hearts. It was with no small amount of sadness that they saw the lives of such dearly loved ones torn apart after the death of both parents.

He made his way to his study. He did not wish to be alone, but with Georgiana and Mrs. Anesly back at Pemberly, and with him refusing callers, he was unlikely to see a friendly face for sometime. He pulled a thick book off the shelf and began reading, yet he saw none of the words, his mind occupied elsewhere... In Hertfordshire, in fact, along with his heart, not that he would admit so, not even to himself. He chastised himself for the lack of concentration and threw the book aside and, opting for a less taxing task, he stoked the fire.

One piece of business which he convinced himself was necessary was to write to his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and to ask that he request information concerning Wickham from the war office. He was not willing to become involved with the 'gentleman' again, but he would at least keep tabs on him.

The rest of his week passed slowly. He had small matters of business to which he attended: his solicitor called, his steward wrote frequently regarding the estate, and he reviewed the final quarters accounts a month in advance. All was, as usual, in top condition and on the increase. He distracted himself in any way he could throughout those long days in London. He rode through the park in the mornings, worked in the afternoon, and fenced or visited his club in the evenings. He exhausted every fibre in his body but still, every night as he climbed the great staircase of Darcy House, his body aching and eyes weary, he couldn't help but imagine ascending the stairs with her on his arm, taking her to his bed as his wife and waking up to her the next morning. Every night he would crawl beneath the counterpane and lie on the cusp of sleep for hours, simply thinking about her and when sleep finally found him, he would spend hours dreaming of her before he was torn from his sleep. His dreams were vivid and varied, ranging from sublime imaginings of having her to himself and taking her in his arms, to the nightmarish and very real visions of her standing, so beautiful, so close and so enchanting but so entirely out of his grasp. He woke feeling more exhausted than when he went to bed, his head often aching, before he dragged himself through the drudgery of another day.

~oOo~

Elizabeth started after her friend as Charlotte retreated down the path away from Longbourn. She was dumb struck, she was shocked, simply shocked. No one as smart as Charlotte could have ever, in all of history, done something so idiotic! Elizabeth hadn't believed it at first, she had thought it to be some terrible joke, but Charlotte pressed the point of how 'rational' the match was. "How could she degrade herself so thoughtlessly?" thought Elizabeth, a wave of anger coursing through her.

She turned on her heels and ran back to the house then quickly to her room, where she closed the door hard and leaned her head against the cold, hard oak of the frame. "Foolish, thoughtless girl! How could she marry such an imbecile even if for security? He will make her miserable in every way!" Lizzy told herself.

Charlotte Lucas had come to see her friend and to give her the news that she would soon be Mrs. Charlotte Collins. There was no doubt Elizabeth's mama would hear of it today, and she wanted to give Lizzy fair warning. Charlotte had looked embarrassed; she knew what she had agreed to, what it entailed, and was well aware of her friend's feelings toward the man she would soon call husband, but she was almost seven and twenty and no romantic. She knew this was likely to be her only offer and she was conscious of the security that was guaranteed by marriage, so she had done the rational thing and accepted. Mrs. Bennet was indeed angry when she found out and the house was thrown into turmoil once again and it was some weeks before any peace was found at Longbourn again.

It was after these weeks that Elizabeth began to feel herself once again. She regained some semblance of normality as their lives settled back into their usual comings and goings. Her mother was enthusiastic as ever to have her daughters wed, if not more so, and threw all of her energy into Jane's wedding. Elizabeth's aunt and uncle were due any day now along with their children for Christmas, and their arrive could not have been more eagerly anticipated.

Christmas at Longbourn was a loud, chaotic event filled with laughter and merriment that could be heard all through the house and, with the addition of the Gardiner children, this year was no exception. Even when dining at Netherfield for an evening they could not but slightly raise the spirits of even their most stubbornly petulant host, Miss Caroline Bingley. Not that she would ever admit to anyone that she had hosted a tradesmen and his family in her formal dining room!

Christmas for the Darcy's was spent at their Aunt and Uncle Matlocks. Darcy had decided to spend the winter in town so that Georgiana could have her family around her. Georgiana had noticed the recent change in her brother and worried for him and, although she would not dare ask too many questions for fear of prying, she showed enough concern for him to realise that his change in mood was affecting her as well. They returned to Pemberly on January 6th and Georgiana was glad to be back. Darcy had always found comfort in his home and set himself hard at work on estate matters, for there was always something to be done and he buried himself in the distraction of business. Slowly but surely his life was returning to normal and, though he still dreamed of what it would be like to have Elizabeth there with him, he felt the loss less keenly and used the fact as assurance that he would someday forget she had ever existed. He had, however, forgotten that at some point in a few weeks he would be facing her at the altar as they stood with Jane and Bingley as bridesmaid and groomsman.

Elizabeth and Jane were ecstatic, the wedding date was set and invitations were issued. The wedding would be on the seventh of March, and plans were in full speed. Their mama was in a constant state of elation as she primped and preened all of her daughters dresses and planned to have the house cleaned from the eves to the floorboards in the space of a month. Mr. Bennet was well ensconced in his study for much of January, hidden from the talk of lace and frills and had a regular visitor in Elizabeth, when her mama did not require her. The younger ladies made their usual trips into Meryton and had frequent callers in the form of officers, encouraged, of course, by Mrs. Bennet. Longbourn was a house of joy and, though not quite 'peaceful,' it was happy nonetheless.

It was just two weeks after arriving back at Pemberly that Darcy received a letter from his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, with details of Wickham. Darcy had asked him to keep him informed on any of the man's movements, as he wanted to bring Georgiana to the wedding with him but knew he couldn't expose her to the scoundrel again. He sat at his desk one fine morning in January and began his correspondence. He was a very methodical man and so after completing his letters of estate business, he moved onto society invitations, compiling a set of events he would attend, those who deserved a response of his regrets and those which warranted neither attendance nor regrets. He then began to read through his personal correspondence, the first letters being from his Aunt and Uncle Matlock, no doubt checking up on him after his more than usually despondent state at Christmas, which he put to one side. The next was from his Aunt Catherine who, in her usual haughty, high-handed nature, told him that he would join her a week before Easter at Rosings. Darcy rolled his eyes and then laid the letter to one side. He then picked up his letter from his cousin and began the task of delving into Wickham's matters yet again.

Dear Cousin,

Forgive the bluntness of this, I'll be sure to write properly when I get the chance but things down at the war office have me in high demand and hard hours at present.

Wickham is still in Hertfordshire, and it seems he bought his commission in November and was installed in a regiment in a small town of Meryton. Nothing too heinous reported yet, only some minor gambling debts with fellow officers and extended credit on one or two local shops. It's early, yet I say he'll be in trouble sooner or later. His regiment is to remove to Brighton in a few months, but it seems Wickham has taken a particular fancy to a lady in Meryton and is now engaged to the poor girl, no doubt one of some small fortune. Don't know too many particulars but he'll have to be good if he's to marry into the area. Let's see if he slips up when he reaches the coast, preferably into the sea!

Hope all is well with you, dear friend. Your petulant sulking at Christmas didn't go unnoticed! I'll have it out of you sooner or later!

Sincerest regards,

Richard.

Darcy stood abruptly and clenched his fists, crumpling the letter in his hand. He flew out from behind the desk and began pacing, raking his hands through his hair as his mind raced. "She could not, she would not be so fooled!" he declared, but at that moment memories of the ball finally rushed back to him. She had defended Wickham at the ball, made him out to be a victim and implied he had lost Darcy's friendship unjustly! He knew how charming Wickham could be; he had seen him turn his wiles on many a young lady over the years and had cleaned up his mess after him. But Elizabeth had no fortune, as he knew through Bingley that the Jane's dowry did not exceed £500 pounds. Would Wickham truly marry a country woman of so little fortune? But this was no ordinary woman; she was charming, beautiful, witty, intelligent, she was worthy of a king in immaterial value. Could Wickham have fallen under her spell as he himself had? He unfurled the crumpled missive and read the lines again. There was nothing to be done, but he would be back in Hertfordshire before long, so he would simply have to wait.

It was around the same time that Elizabeth learned of the news herself. Lydia and Kitty came bursting into the parlour one afternoon after spending the morning making calls. They were flushed and breathing heavily as they explained, "We have such news to tell! Oh, you will not believe us when we tell you!" Panted Lydia.

"We have just been to speak with Sarah Jones and..." began Kitty before Lydia cut her off.

"Hush Kitty, I will tell them for I heard more and asked the most questions!" she exclaimed.

"Oh mama, it is so terrible I cannot speak of it! Mary King, that short freckled girl who just inherited £10,000 has just become engaged and you will never guess to who, for she does not deserve him!" she said scrunching her face at her older sisters' reproofs for belittling Miss King.

"Oh who, child? Who is she to marry?" squealed Mrs. Bennet.

"Oh it is perfectly horrible and terribly unfair. She has stolen the pride of the army and she is engaged to... To be married to..." she said, reveling at being the centre of attention, before finally falling dramatically across a chaise and sighing, "To Mr. Wickham..."

The effusions continued for a short while as Kitty, Lydia and their mother talked of redcoats and love before the very subject of their discussions arrived. The officers were introduced and ushered into the parlour, whereupon Mrs. Bennet, not being one to miss out on a chance at having the gossip straight from the horse's mouth, congratulated Lt. Wickham and wished him joy. He glanced to where Elizabeth sat, her expression unreadable, before he thanked Mrs. Bennet and then recommended a walk through the gardens, as the sky appeared to be inclined to remain clear today.

Elizabeth had taken the news rather well. She expected to be upset, or maybe a little jealous even, but neither anger nor envy had she felt. She was aware that his attentions to her now seemed rather shallow and perhaps a little practiced, if she thought about it, but it only solidified the fact that he had never given her any real indication of his regard. She thought she should feel offended somewhat, but she was no fool. Even handsome young men needed something to live on, and Mary King was a sweet girl, and perhaps Mr. Wickham really was taken with her. But still, why did she not feel the loss of his attention? She had liked him, of that much she had been aware. "But," she thought, "he never did engage my heart." It was during her musings that the man in question had requested them all go to the garden, she shrugged internally and stood as she fixed a light smile on her features. She would make sure he knew that he still had her friendship.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"Hurry up!" he whispered, pulling her by the arm through the door. "We need to be at the carriage within the hour!" he growled.

"Alright, I'm coming! Ouch! You're hurting me," she moaned and he softened his manner a little, but could not help the exasperation that was evident in his voice.

"Forgive me, my sweet. But if we do not hurry we will not go at all... And I can wait no longer to make you mine," he said.

"Oh my dear George, how romantic you are! I shall be yours as soon as can be, yes, let us hurry!" she said, gathering her skirts and rushing through the door into the cold night.

When they arrived, George Wickham quickly ushered the girl into the carriage before he stepped in and closed the door behind. He turned to her and kissed her roughly, the taste of liquor still on his tongue and his hands roving freely over her body. She merely giggled at his ministrations, fool that she was, and giddy with excitement over her elopement. She fell asleep in a matter of minutes as she laid her head in his lap and drifted off to sleep with the rocking motion of the carriage.

He sat slouched as he stared out the window, sleep eluding him. He thought over his plan once again. Miss King had her fortune stolen away from him by her righteous uncle! He had debts in the last village he had been in and people were searching for him, so King had been his last ditch effort at an advantageous marriage to solve his problems. He had to find another way to keep the collectors at bay or he'd be sunk. It was on a cards night at the Philips' that his current plan had formed: Lydia Bennet had imbibed more punch than she ought and her advances were even more forward than usual. He had been thinking of some way to work the more desirable Lizzy Bennet into his plan, but she certainly was no fool and would never do anything that could jeopardise her family. So, it was to be Lydia, the ignorant chit who required no amount of coaxing to get into the back of a carriage under the pretense of an elopement. His mind worked quickly and it was before the evening was out that he'd convinced the silly girl that she was in love with him, and it took but one, rather un-chaste dalliance the next morning to convince her to flee to Gretna Green with him. And so that day he wrote a fateful missive to one Mr. Charles Bingley of Netherfield park and left it with Denny to be delivered the morning after the escape.

It was Jane who first came to notice Lydia's absence. Lydia was a late sleeper, but as the morning ticked away Jane began to wonder that her sister had not come down for breakfast and, putting her sewing aside, she went to find her youngest sister. She entered the parlour white as a sheet, a note in her hand and tears beginning to fall. Elizabeth jumped to her feet and pulled her to a seat.

"Jane whatever is it?" she asked.

"Oh Lizzy! It is so awful..." she replied before she burst into tears and handed the note to her sister.

My Dearest family,

Be not alarmed, I am well. In fact I am more than well, for I am about to have everything I could ever dream of! I am leaving for Gretna Green and I will think you all simpletons if you cannot guess with whom. I will write when we are to return and imagine all my sisters rotten with jealousy when I sign my name Mrs. Lydia Wickham!

~oOo~

"Do not say it Elizabeth, I am well aware of what part I have played in all this. You have told me to check Lydia all these years and now this is the consequence of my negligence!" said Mr. Bennet as he hurried about his study. Elizabeth had rushed the missive into her Papa's study and now stood watching as he readied himself to go after the couple.

"Papa, this is hardly the time. I have come to hear what you intend to do! Have you written to my uncle?" she pleaded.

"Yes, my dear, yes. I will go after them and your Uncle Gardiner is to follow me. They will be discovered." Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. Mr. Bennet, in a temper that was rarely seen or heard from him growled and shouted "WHAT?!" as he strode over and tore the door open. There stood a very pale, very shocked looking Mr. Bingley.

"Mr. Bingley, forgive me, but there is a matter of the utmost urgency to which I must attend," said Mr. Bennet and was about to walk past Bingley when the young man, finding his voice again, spoke.

"I know sir... I know everything and a great deal more than yourself. Please," he said in his most serious tone, "let us go back to your study. There is a great deal to discuss." Mr. Bennet turned a wary eye on the young man but did as he was asked to and walked back to the study where Elizabeth still sat. Bingley didn't even notice her as he handed a partially torn piece of paper to Mr. Bennet.

They were all silent around Mr. Bennet's desk, Elizabeth sitting in an armchair that, over the years, had come to be known as hers. Mr. Bingley was stiffly perched on the edge of the second armchair, his hat still in hand and a look of nervous anger and sadness on his face. Mr. Bennet stood with his back to them, fists clenched tightly at his side as he stared out of the window.

"I am grieved, shocked, Mr. Bingley, that you should have been so ill used, and dragged into this debacle and scandal which is sure to ensue!" said Mr. Bennet, not turning from the glass. And then, returning to his seat behind his desk he continued, "I'm afraid I'm still having difficulty understanding all this. He did not seem so disreputable, did he Lizzy? What was your impression of him? I understand he was quite a favourite of yours at some point." he said, turning to her. She flushed a little but her mind was racing at all she had just learned. She looked back down at the letter, and with shock still written across her face, she read:

Dear Sir,

Please allow me to begin by wishing you joy on your up and coming marriage to the very lovely Miss Jane Bennet. You shall be the envy of many a man.

I will not waste your time with any further pleasantries, as I write with a purpose and one that, in fact, concerns your betrothed. I am not a man of means, I have little money and fewer prospects, and it is for these reasons that I have taken my future into my own hands and I now place it, and that of a particular young lady, in yours.

Last night I eloped with Miss Lydia Bennet. She expects us to be married within a week, but I myself have no such intention unless certain demands are met, sir. It will become a well-known fact and scandal soon enough, as I'm sure you will find that the little, foolish chit has written to her friend Miss Maria Lucas to give her the 'exciting news'. It will be common gossip within five days time, and so this gives you the next week to meet my demands and see us returned as man and wife, avoiding the scandal that will prevent your own betrothal.

I am in need of £800 in order to pay off gambling debts, a further £2000 for my commission in the regulars, and a sum of £10,000 in order to ensure the happiness of my dear little wife. There is an address card enclosed to whom the letters may be sent (it is an alehouse so don't bother looking). Once these demands are met, I will marry Miss Lydia Bennet with a special license bought also by you, otherwise she will return just as that, MISS Lydia BENNET.

Forgive the brevity, I find there are better distractions at hand.

Sincerely,

George Wickham.

Elizabeth stared back to her father and, shaking her head slightly, she said, "I... I had no idea, he seemed so amiable, so charming. Papa, he seemed a perfect gentleman. I do not understand at all." She thought about it all, about everything he had ever said to her, all the things he'd told her about his life, his sad life, his struggles, his misfortunes... His misfortunes? Suddenly she recalled what Mr. Darcy had said at the ball that night. "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends — whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain." Good God, had she been so foolishly blinded by her hatred of the man to completely ignore his warning?

Wickham was nothing more than a common rake with uncommonly charming manners and features! And she! She was no better than Lydia, to be taken in and be so fooled by him! Elizabeth fell back in her bed, exhausted from the day's events. They had all agreed that no one else in the house need hear the truth of the matter, and Mr. Bingley was ushered away before Mrs. Bennet could see him. Elizabeth did not have the energy to think on it any further. Her father and Mr. Bingley had surmised from the letter that the couple had gone to London, and Mr. Bennet had left for town that afternoon, in order to go to Mr. Gardiner and ask for his help in discovering the pair. Bingley profusely offered his assistance but Mr. Bennet would not allow the man to take on such a burden. He would never be able to pay him back, for God's sake! Mr. Bingley left Longbourn feeling sullen and useless. Mr. Bennet was no fool, though he would not refuse any assistance Bingley could give, he could not ask him to meet the demands of such a scoundrel.

Bingley hurried back to Netherfield, threw off his greatcoat and hat, and ran to his study. He was fast acting when required and now would be no exception. He hurried to the desk and pulled his pen and some paper in front of him and began to write what suddenly felt like the most important letter he would ever write.

~OoO~

Darcy,

There's been a great emergency, I am in dire of need of help. I do not write to you simply because you are my most trusted friend and confidant, but because I think that you may be more closely connected than you are through me. I know from what you told me that there is a connection between you and the officer Lt. Wickham, and not one of very great standing from what little you did say. He has caused trouble (the last sentence was scored through) He has torn the Bennet household asunder. I scarcely know what to write, forgive my being brief but I must begin doing anything I can to help my betrothed and future family. It seems that the man in question is of the scheming nature, he has blackmailed me, Darcy, with my own fiancé and used her sister abominably. Wickham has eloped with Miss Lydia Bennet. Enclosed is the missive that he had delivered to my door the morning after they fled. I am willing to accede to his demands provided I can be sure he will return. Mr. Bennet will not allow me to do so and has travelled to London in hopes of finding the couple. Your advice would be of great assistance in this, my friend and any help that you can offer I beg you to do so.

Your friend,

C.B

Darcy stared at the letter for he knew not how long. His face turned pale for a moment before flushing scarlet with severe anger, his free hand grasping at the arm of the chair so hard his knuckles were white. He threw the chair from under him as he stood, bringing his neatly stacked papers and books crashing to the floor along with his tea tray and a decanter of fine French port. He rushed toward the door and began yelling instructions at every servant nearby, many having already gathered near the study to find the source of the crash. Within two hours, Mr. Darcy was on Boreas and tearing his path away from his estate, a carriage and his valet to follow behind. He had written instructions to Bingley and sent them by way of express, paying double to ensure it would reach Longbourn within two days, preceding himself by one day.

What had he done? He, who knew what Wickham was, knew what he was capable of, and now people were suffering because of his reticence. Why had he not exposed him the day he saw him with Elizabeth? "Elizabeth..." He paled and pulled Boreas to a grinding halt, the horse pulling hard and sliding on the dirt beneath its feet scattering dirt and stones, muddying Darcy and soaking the end of his greatcoat. He didn't move for a moment as his thoughts rushed over him. He hadn't even stopped for a moment to truly consider the truth of the situation, he hadn't thought about Elizabeth in all of this. He had simply acted. "She couldn't have been the one Wickham was engaged to," he realised. A rush of relief coursed through his veins and into his heart, what painful dread that had been crushing him these few days lifted at the thought but was promptly replaced by several stirrings of confused emotion.

Elizabeth, God what she must be suffering right now. How could she be coping? He had a sudden protective instinct present itself as he thought of her distressed by her sister's foolish risk. This was immediately followed by a heavy, asphyxiating strain of guilt as he realised he might have prevented all of this had he simply exposed the cad. But no, to expose him would be to expose Georgiana, and he could not do that. He could, he supposed, have simply ensured that his character had been known in general, but where would he have gone, to whom could he have said imparted such information? It would have been a degradation to speak so openly with any of the class of persons he met in Hertfordshire, it would have been insufferable. So why did he care so very much now?

He told himself it was because Bingley needed him, but he had not wanted Bingley to become tied to the Bennets in the first place. He believed Jane Bennets heart was untouched by Bingley and she was simply doing as her mercenary mother bid her. So why was he so determined to help? "Because I should have reined Wickham in years ago..." he said quietly and completely devoid of truth. No, he knew why he was going to such trouble to see this set right. It was there the whole time he was planning the solution to this debacle, and so he knew exactly why he was returning to Hertfordshire as fast as was humanly possible. It mattered not how much Charles needed him, nor how much the reputation of a young girl was at stake, and he did not care how responsible he should feel for Wickham's profligacy. He thought only of her.

At this thought, he dug his heels into Boreas and urged him on with his riding crop, his mind filled with thoughts of the woman who so haunted his every dream, his sleepless nights and his every daylight reverie.

~oOo~

Bingley paced the hall in a vicious anxiety. Darcy's letter had arrived the day before to say he'd be arriving at noon sharp, and Bingley was eager to waste not another minute. He'd spent four days in agonizing anticipation since he'd sent his letter to his friend. He knew Darcy would know what to do, that he was bound to have the answer. Bingley was a good businessman, but was not one for confrontation and often had trouble under highly stressful situations. Darcy was not one to lose his head, he could take the most distressing problem and put it to rights without flinching emotionally.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a horse's hooves on the gravel. Bingley's head shot up and he ran from the house down the steps to the rider. Darcy threw himself down from the exhausted horse, Boreas was breathing heavily and sweat holding his dirtied black mane slick to his side. Darcy handed the reigns to a groom and made his way directly to Bingley.

Clapping his friend on the shoulder, he said, "Charles, I see you received my letter," referring to his friend's clear expectancy at seeing him. "I came as fast as I could. Come, let us go in and see to this." Mr. Bingley's relief at his friend's arrival could not be expressed. It was evident that he had not been sleeping well, he looked disheveled no matter how well the cut of his clothes were tailored to his form. After several failed attempts to vocalise his appreciation at Darcy's arrival, he instead had a bath drawn for him and allowed him his time to refresh after the hard journey.

Mr. Darcy was almost reluctant to go upstairs, no matter how much he quite clearly needed to. He could keep his mind from nothing other than the problem they faced, and he wanted it gone as soon as he could. He didn't think he could face Elizabeth yet, to see her upset, discomposed, vulnerable. God, he didn't think he would be able to stop himself from taking her into his arms and fending the rest of the world off away from her. "Stop it, man!" he chided himself. "You are here to help. You cannot have her after all... but in this I can protect her." It gave him an odd satisfaction, to know that he would be the one to defend and protect her in some way. That he would be able to play this one role in her life... "And then disappear from it again..." he thought, a shadow passing over his face.

He readied himself within a half an hour and was swiftly ushered into Bingley's study, but not before Miss Caroline Bingley, who had not had the pleasure of knowing about Mr. Darcy's return, came upon him in the hall. "My dear Mr. Darcy, I was so thrilled to hear of your arrival! You are so good to come to Charles now, he has been looking so ill as of late." she said, then lowering her voice and stepping far too close to him than he felt comfortable with, she added, "I do wonder if he might be regretting his choice of bride. Perhaps this may be the chance we need to free him from this disast..."

"Miss Bingley" he broke in taking several steps back from her. "I have noticed Charles' present temperament and I assure you it is not regret from which he suffers. Worry not Madam, I will offer what assistance I can to ensure he is back to his old self once again. Now please, excuse me." He walked swiftly away from her to the other side of the hall and into the study.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Darcy had never revealed his whole history with Wickham to anyone and, no matter how much he trusted Charles, he was not about to start. Bingley offered a seat and a glass of brandy, but Darcy declined both and instead took to pacing the room. He halted at the window to stare out at the now familiar view. Long evenings spent in this room, hiding from Caroline, and desiring quite another lady's presence had engraved every landscape into his memory. He breathed deeply before beginning.

"George Wickham was the son of my late father's steward. My father held him in great esteem, born from his respect of Mr. Wickham. When Mr. Wickham died, my father provided for George, he payed his way through Cambridge and brought him up in the life of a gentleman and he had hoped to make the church his profession. By this time, however, George Wickham's profligacy and dissolute ways were as strongly founded as his charm and engaging manner. When my own excellent father died, he left Wickham one thousand pounds and the living at a parish once he had taken orders." Mr. Darcy turned to Bingley, staring earnestly at the man. "Mr. Wickham came to me and requested three thousand pounds instead of the living my father had desired for him. He expressed a desire to study the law, and so I provided him with what he asked so that he could do so. I hoped rather than believed that he would do anything of the sort. A few years passed before his money was spent and he came to me demanding the living. I, of course, denied him it, as a man of his sort cannot be trusted to command a parish." Darcy stopped here and walked to the fireplace, picking up the glass of brandy Bingley had left at the edge of the desk for him. He glanced down at the amber liquid and sipped it before he stared at the flames in front of him. "I have paid Wickham's debts and taken care of the wake of wreckage his dissolute misconduct leaves for years now. It is only this past year that I had sworn to do so never again... I must apologise to you Bingley, I fear it is through my unwillingness to restrain him that he has resorted to such means as this." He trailed off as he thought about Georgiana and what his lack of care and control of Wickham had done to her.

Mr. Bingley stared back at the tall, serious gentleman before him. He had never seen Darcy express so much emotion before. He suddenly seemed so normal, vulnerable, and even hurt. He blinked and shook his head, before standing and walking around the table to meet Darcy. "Good God man, you do not actually blame yourself for all this?" he cried, shaking Darcy out of his current reverie. "I can understand your wanting to bring the cad to justice, but he is his own man and not in your charge. I will not have you blame yourself for any more of his immoralities." Bingley said as he looked seriously into the man's eyes.

"Charles, I will be responsible for this. I will see to it that Miss Lydia Bennet returns to Hertfordshire as Mrs. Wickham, and I will buy his commission in the regulars after I settle his debts here and wherever else he has fled from recently." He said the last with an affected tone of voice, which told Bingley he would brook no argument and looked with his hard black eyes into his friends own of soft green hazel. Bingley sighed and dropped his head, feeling a sense of sympathetic remorse for what his friend must be going through and guilt at the thought that without Darcy he would have never been able to handle this.

"I will do whatever I can and whatever you will allow," he said, grasping Darcy's shoulder.

Letters were written, plans were made, and travel was set for the next day at two. Darcy hauled himself up the stairs that night after an exhausting evening with Miss Bingley and the Hursts. He had almost forgotten how poor the conversation to be had with them was. He reached his room and closed the door behind him, leaning his broad shoulders against it as he loosed his cravat and threw it over the wing-backed chair beside him along with his jacket. He undressed down to his trousers and shirtsleeves and then reclined into an armchair facing the fire. He had not slept more than four hours a night for weeks now, and though he felt the weariness, sleep continued to elude him. So he instead sat and stared into the fire as he went over every inch of the plan he and Bingley had composed.

His mind began to wander and he found his thoughts leading him to a more pleasant subject in the form of the face of a pretty woman and a pair of fine eyes, and tonight he found that he was too weak to rein in his thoughts. He let his head fall back in the chair as he thought about Elizabeth, how desperately despondent she must be feeling, what a strain this all must be on her. He imagined her alone and crying, in despair over the depth of her sister and her own family's ruin. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to hold her and reassure her that there was nothing to fear, that he would take care of her... It was with these thoughts that he found sleep and dreamed of Elizabeth in his arms, Elizabeth at Pemberly, Elizabeth with him.

~oOo~

It was with a heavy heart and a look of total defeat that Mr. Bennet returned to Longbourn. He and Mr. Gardiner had had no success, hitting only dead ends in their search for Wickham and Lydia, using days of valuable time and wasting money that paid for nothing. He walked through the door of the house and toward the stairs. The house was eerily quiet, with no sound to be heard, not Mary's piano, nor Kitty and Mrs. Bennet chatter. The servants were silently working and tiptoed past any of the family rooms or the parlour, while the few that were in the hall looked upon their master with a sympathetic eye.

"Papa!" a hoarse voice called. He spun around to see his dearest child standing in the entranceway with sprigs of lavender in her hand, her eyes misted over, and then rushing toward him as the servants disappeared from the hallway.

"Lizzy, my dear." He spoke quietly in sorrow filled tones. She put her arms about his and pressed her cheek to his chest as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and placed a kiss atop her hair. She pulled away and looked at him, noting how he seemed as though he had aged ten years in just a few days, with his eyes heavy and dark circles contrasting with his sickly pallor as clear indication of how well he had been resting.

"Papa, you have not slept. How long were you traveling?" she said, shock and concern clearly written across her features. He waved her off and shook his head.

"How can I even think of sleeping at a time like this, Lizzy?" he asked. She stared back into his eyes as he raised a hand to her cheek and said, "You have not slept either, my child." She rested her face on his hand and Mr. Bennet held his dearest daughter.

The next day saw Kitty rushing up the path to Longbourn in floods of tears, as she ran straight into the parlour and into the arms of her sister Jane. "Kitty! Whatever is the matter, dearest?" Jane cried.

"I... I have just been to..." she sobbed, "I have just been to see M... M... Maria Lucas." She stuttered before bursting into tears again. "But, but Mrs. Lucas, Mrs. Lucas wouldn't let me in. She says... That we are... Ruined and not welcome in genteel company." She burst into tears again and buried her face in Jane's shoulder. Elizabeth paled and looked at Jane, who had gone limp and weak at Kitty's declaration. She had been told about the letter from Wickham to Bingley and she had begged Mr. Bingley to feel no obligation to do so and that she would release him from their engagement, which of course he refused. But now that it was out, Jane was certain he would want nothing more to do with her. How could he, as he would be exposing himself and his sisters to the same scandal that the Bennets were suffering now.

~oOo~

The house was still and silent for hours after the discovery that family's downfall was known about Meryton, and an eerily foreboding quiet fell over them as the night set in. No one in the house really slept that night except Mrs. Bennet, who had consumed enough laudanum to keep her unconscious for a full day. The morning after was cold and grey, clouds having set in overnight, leaving the overcast weather to match with the general atmosphere of the home and family.

Elizabeth woke early and pulled the counterpane off, the chill of the morning air flooding over her as she sat up from the bed. She stood and, hugging her arms around herself, she made to way to the window. She sat on the window seat staring out across the fields of the estate and the expanse of trees around it, the sun only just visible as it rose behind the cold, grey clouds, frost clinging to the grass and her window panes. She pressed a hand up to the glass and wiped away the condensation, then watched as water droplets raced down the window and gathered at the wood of the frame pooling at the bottom and dripping onto the window seat.

She raised her head to look back out of the window and observed what would be the first day of the new life they were being forced into. She thought about Lydia and how foolish she had been, but she could not hate her. She was young and had been tricked into believing she was eloping with a man who loved her, and she would be suffering worse than any of those at Longbourn, alone and helpless in the streets of London. Elizabeth had not realised how long she had sat like that until she saw a man on horseback riding up the path. She roused herself from her reverie and rushed to get dressed.

It was only twenty minutes later that she was flying down the stairs, where she heard Mary playing the piano from the far sitting room. She walked toward the parlour, and there she found something she had recently feared she might never see again. She opened the door to the parlour and found her dearest sister Jane smiling.

"Jane, dearest, what ever is it?" she hurried to her sister's side and took her hand.

"Lizzy, he has done it, Charles has found them and had them marry, they are returning tomorrow as man and wife!" cried Jane. Elizabeth sat dumb founded for a moment, the entire morning's emotions of lost hope and sorrow rushing away from her, and then she turned to Jane, embraced her and spoke over her shoulder.

"Where is Mr. Bingley now?" she said.

"Oh," replied Jane, "he is confronting Papa. I know not what he had to do to see them married, but if it is anything like what was demanded by Mr. Wickham, then I can only imagine how Papa will feel. But Lizzy, surely now after what happened to Kitty yesterday, we can only be happy at this result?" she asked. Elizabeth merely smiled at her sister and then looked toward the door, wondering what her father would really be feeling.

It was only a moment later before the door opened and in walked Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bennet, the former looking a little contrite, but not too shaken, and the latter with an unreadable look. Elizabeth looked to her father and, catching his eye, she gave him a questioning look.

"I believe, Jane, that you may wish to go and inform your mother of the news," he said, looking to his eldest. "Tell her that I received word that the wedding took place yesterday morning and that her dearest Lydia will be bringing her betrothed here tomorrow, before they are to leave for the North." he finished and Jane rose, kissed his cheek and walked from the room.

"Now," began Mr. Bennet, "Lizzy, my dearest, I will hide no part of these doings from you. I will need a confidant in this and I highly doubt I would have been able to avoid you inquiries in the end. Mr. Bingley here," he said, gesturing toward the man in question, "has taken it upon himself to track down the scoundrel and your halfwit sister, pay every debt, furnish the cads pockets with I know not how much money, and then see them married as well as buy up his commission in the regulars and, by some miracle, have him transferred to Newcastle." He spoke with an air of disbelief and a little ire. Elizabeth could not feel angry in the least and all her embarrassment was washed away with gratitude as she turned to Mr. Bingley.

"Mr. Bingley, on behalf of my family I must thank you. We would have been lost if it were not for you, sir."

Mr. Bingley fidgeted a little as his face flushed red, nodding his head and said rather quietly, "Please, Miss Elizabeth, do not thank me... it is not due." He looked away contemplatively as he spoke. She looked a little confused at this and so he quickly added "We are to be brother and sister soon are we not? Let this be a simple family matter and nothing more." He smiled shyly.

~oOo~

The arrival of the wedding party was met with mixed emotions from all those at Longbourn. Kitty and Mrs. Bennet were giggling their excitement, Jane smiled with composure, and Mary had a look of severe disapproval, but it can be agreed that relief could be clearly read in each of those expressions. Elizabeth and her father, however, were unreadable, each considering the truth of the matter and how it all came about, from Mr. Bennet's lackadaisical attitude toward his daughter to Mr. Bingley's gallant rescue.

The Wickhams pulled up outside of the house at two o'clock, three hours late. Mr. Wickham stepped out and looked as charming as ever; tall, dark, handsome and an appealing smile on his face but without even the smallest look of contrition marring his features. He turned and handed out the even more foolish than young Mrs. Wickham, who, like her husband, seemed oblivious to the fact they should have both been begging forgiveness. Although they would hardly receive it, so perhaps it was best that everyone follow the pretense of normality under the current circumstance.

As Elizabeth walked through the gardens with her four sisters, she was silent. She did not speak of Lydia's indiscretion, or of Wickham's revelations about his life of debauchery, she did not even speak to Jane. Instead she was perfectly quiet, a small contented smile upon her face. Underneath it all she wanted to grab at the ridiculous Mrs. Wickham and give her and her profligate husband the sit down thy rightly deserved, but, she wouldn't. No, she would be rational, as no good could come from anything other than bearing their visit with perfect composure and then rejoicing when they left. This was what she resolved to do, that is until Lydia began talking about the wedding.

"And my dear George looked so fetching on our wedding day, I wished he could have worn his regimentals, but of course he could not, and I so wanted to have you there, Kitty to stand with me but in the end it was Aunt Gardener who stood with me, and Mr. Bingley was supposed to stand with my dear Wickham until Mr. Darcy showed up and practically held him at the alter. He almost ruined my wedding, that man! Arguing so much with my dear George..." Elizabeth was shaken from her resolve at this and she looked up at Lydia.

"Mr. Darcy? Lydia what are you saying? He was at your wedding?!" she said.

"OH!" cried Lydia, "I was not supposed to say, no Mr. Darcy came with Bingley. He was in an even fouler mood than I've ever seen and was awful to my dear Wickham. He was even ordering Bingley around!" she said matter of factly.

Elizabeth was more embarrassed than she'd care to admit to think that Mr. Darcy knew of her family's near ruin. It made her very uncomfortable, and she could not name why. She had never cared for his opinion, but to know that he now had good reason to look so far down upon her was a hard blow. Why she cared she did not know, and she was unwilling to consider it. She knew not the truth of the history between Wickham and Mr. Darcy, but she certainly no longer felt that Mr. Wickham's account of events held any validity. She actually found she was curious as to the truth of the story, but knew there was no way to ever find out without disregard for propriety. The embarrassment she felt worsened when she realised that Mr. Bingley had obviously called upon his friend for help with recovering her delinquent sister. He must have had information on Wickham that was of use.

"Perhaps," she thought, "we owe some thanks to Mr. Darcy, though from what Lydia said he did not do so willingly. I am glad he is enough of a gentleman to at least help his friend." She felt guilty once she had thought it, for though he may have been disagreeable, she could no longer hate him for a snide comment against her beauty. She sighed and went back into her silent contemplation.

The couple stayed for just four days before Wickham had to report to Newcastle, and so they left on a Wednesday afternoon, late of course. After the carriage pulled away, the Bennets all returned to the house and it was mere moments before Mrs. Bennet began her next conquest of marriage for her progeny.

"Oh Jane, my dear Jane, we must continue your wedding plans now that the excitement over Lydia has died down. Do you know I saw Mrs. Lucas yesterday, and I'm sure you can imagine her embarrassment to see my dear Mrs. Wickham accompanied by me and her husband, buying her pretty trinkets. Well, I dare say she will speak of nothing now but how her daughter and Mr. Collins will someday have this house!" she said the last with a sharp glare in Elizabeth's direction but then continued her effusions over Jane.

A.N:

I'd like to just take a moment of your time to acknowledge and thank my beta who has made an immense difference and done the work twice as fast as I'd expected! I hope you're all enjoying it thus far, the reviews are really motivating so thank you all!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The wedding between Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn and Mr. Charles Bingley of Netherfield Park was agreed to be one of the very best that Meryton had seen, and every lucky attendee took on a supercilious air about those who were not fortunate enough to be invited. There may have been too much lace, and certainly more food than could possibly be consumed by the number of guests, but no one who noticed saw fit to mention it. The service itself was brief and succinct, but nonetheless beautiful. Jane and her bridegroom could not have been happier to be married and everyone who saw them said so.

However, it was not the service or the food or even the bride or the groom that occupied the thoughts of a certain gentleman present. Nor was it the lace, save for that which adorned the dress of a particular lady, which held the attention of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. He stood across the altar from her, watching her eyes glisten with unshed tears of joy and seeing how a serene smile lightened them further. She was a vision, even more graceful and bewitching than he recalled. Somehow, he had fooled himself into remembering her as rather average in beauty, and he dreaded to find out how he must have underrated her wit.

Elizabeth was incandescent. Her dearest sister was marrying for love, and after all that had happened recently, this felt like a balm to the soul. She watched the couple as the vows were spoken, tears of joy coming to her eyes as she smiled at the scene before her. Her eyes wandered from the blushing bride, as she bestowed a most becoming smile and love filled eyes on her almost husband, then to the bridegroom himself who looked to his 'angel' with doe eyes and a silly smile worn only by a man deeply in love. Her gaze then wandered to the right of Mr. Bingley, where a tall, broad shouldered and very handsome man stood. She examined his attire for a moment and could not help but notice the muscular form beneath the perfectly fitted jacket and long, delicately pressed trousers, or the neat press and precision tie of his cravat. She had to admit to herself that he was, if in no other way agreeable, at least an extremely handsome man. She blushed scarlet as she realised she was staring at him and admiring his muscular form. She searched for something else to think about but neither her mind nor her eyes would stray from the man before her. "He is," she thought, "also very well read, and highly intelligent, not in a pompous or over-educated way, but quick and rather witty." She conceded to herself.

He stood tall, his gaze never moving from her as the ceremony went on. He had watched her when she walked up the aisle behind her sister and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine she was walking up the aisle to him. He watched her take her place behind her sister as the service began and now he watched her as she was watching him. Her eyes wandered over his shoulders and chest, down the length of his arms and then over his legs and back up to his throat before she blushed a most becoming shade of pink. His breath caught as he considered what it could mean, that she was looking at him so and clearly blushing at whatever thoughts occupied her curious mind.

He had arrived only a week before the wedding, convinced that he had overcome his desire for Elizabeth Bennet. Then upon first seeing her, in the hall at Netherfield Park with her sister Jane, he had a surge of all the emotions he felt concerning her course through him like lightning before she looked at him, surprise evident in her expression followed by an embarrassed guilt for he knew not what. It was then that she extended her hand almost sheepishly for him to take as she greeted him, and he bowed over her hand, using inordinate amounts of effort not to press a kiss to the soft ivory skin. He straightened out and looked at her, expecting to see her turn swiftly and retreat from his side as she had done in their past greetings. Instead, she rose from her curtsey and looked at him and, catching her gaze, he saw there a look that he could not discern. It was almost embarrassment if he was not mistaken. But it lasted a mere moment before she lifted her chin, arched her brow and looked at him with her usual expression of daring defiance.

She watched him from across the altar, for he was tall and statuesque with a decidedly stately air about him. Her eyes wandered to his strong jaw and up to his firm angled lips, then she unknowingly raised her hand to her cheek as she felt herself blushing. What in the name of all things was she thinking? How had her thoughts lead her here? She was staring at Mr. Darcy, though she didn't even like the man, she certainly couldn't deny that he was very attractive, although that was hardly an excuse to stare at him the way she was. She chastised herself for doing so and felt determined to end the perusal. As she met his eyes after pulling her gaze away from his lips and up his face, she discovered that her study had been noticed by the subject himself, and she froze as their eyes locked.

His thoughts were returned to the present by the very subject that had been occupying them. Elizabeth had moved her hand up to her face, her finger tips gently resting on her delicate cheek bone. Then her eyes moved further up his face until their eyes met, causing him to catch his breath and freeze. They both stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, until Elizabeth, looking flustered, blinked quickly and turned her eyes back to the bride and groom. He felt the loss of her gaze and longed to be lost to the brilliance of her eyes again, their deep brown hue complimenting the rich mahogany waves and tresses about her face.

His thoughts were once again disrupted, but this time by the man beside him. Bingley had tuned to him, a hand extended as if waiting to be given something. Darcy looked at the hand before him, then back to his friends face and across to the priest, then to the bride, and found they had all turned their eyes on him. He felt, but dared not confirm, that so had the rest of the church. He looked over to Elizabeth and, with confusion on his face, his look begged her help. She smiled at his expense and then, raising her hands ever so slightly to draw his attention, she made a gesture with them to denote the placing of a ring on her finger. He started slightly and then presently withdrew the ring and handed it to Bingley, inclining his head slightly in apology. He turned to look back at Elizabeth, but she had already set her attention back on the happy couple.

~oOo~

As the wedding party made their way from the church and back to Longbourn, they passed through the crowds of well-wishers. Mrs. Bennet was reveling in the attention her daughter's betrothal received and exclaiming over the beauty of the ceremony, while she and Mr. Bennet sat in a carriage behind the newly weds, accompanied by the bridesmaid and groomsman. Mr. Bennet did not fail to note how often Mr. Darcy's gaze would rest upon his second and favourite daughter. The happy couple sat in an open top carriage and smiled at those they passed when they were not engrossed in each other's eyes. The rest of the party all walked behind the two carriages, excepting Miss Caroline Bingley and the Hursts, who insisted on waiting an extra fifteen minutes after the service to ensure they could take the Hurst's carriage back to Longbourn.

When the two carriages arrived at the house, Mrs. Bennet immediately rushed into the house and set to work. Mr. and Mrs. Bingley walked in behind her, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes whenever they could. Mr. Darcy had stepped down from the carriage after Mr. Bennet and waited beside it to hand down Elizabeth. It was, however, after Mr. Bennet handed down his wife, who made a swift exit, that he stretched his hand out to his daughter and helped her down. He looked up at Mr. Darcy, who wore a rather irked expression, and said, "Ah! Forgive me Mr. Darcy, force of habit. You see, it is usually my duty to take each of my daughters from the carriage. Well, well, never mind, I am sure you have plenty of opportunities to take the hands of many handsome young ladies in the future." He said, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

Darcy bristled, aware that his annoyance was visible. He nodded at Mr. Bennet and said nothing but, with his head still inclined, gestured with an outstretched arm that they should go to the house. Elizabeth was the first to walk and she wanted nothing more than to be out of the company of Mr. Darcy, for her thoughts at the church had thrown her senses into turmoil, and she knew not what to make of her musings. She was still embarrassed and a little upset that he knew of the scandal that had almost come upon her family, but, she found, she could no longer hate him. Dislike yes, but hate? No. She could not hate him any longer.

The wedding breakfast passed quickly and there was soon music and dancing, with Jane and her new husband leading the group. Mr. Darcy danced the first with Elizabeth, as was expected for the bridesmaid and groomsman, where they discussed a little of the wedding, both careful not to make eye contact. He then danced once with Mrs. Hurst, followed by Miss Bingley, whereupon everyone expected he would quit the amusement and retreat to stare out of a window. But, instead, he walked around the room and asked Elizabeth for her hand in the next set again. She looked surprised by his request as it was not called for, but she acquiesced nonetheless.

He led her to the line across from him and bowed as the music began, she curtseyed in return but her gaze did not leave him. She could not understand what he meant by dancing with her again, and she was growing increasingly embarrassed by his presence. Gone were her earlier thoughts from the church, all she could imagine now was him standing at the wedding with Wickham and Lydia as they proved just how right his impression of her family was. She imagined how he must have warned Bingley against the connection in the first place and then how smug he must have been to have his point proven so effectively. In fact, she imagined so effectively that she managed to completely misconstrue the look of pleasure he held in his eyes as they began to dance, and took it to be a mocking resentment mingled with pity.

"I believe, Mr. Darcy, that we may have used up all of our safe topics of conversation in the first dance. I fear we are now doomed to either repeat ourselves or talk of the weather."

"Do you consider then that there are unsafe topics of conversation to be had when dancing then, Miss Bennet?" he asked, smiling slightly at her teasing and the comfort it brought him.

She saw his lips turn up slightly and believed he was laughing at her expense. Of course he must take pleasure in this, ridiculing her after she had done the same to him during his stay in Hertfordshire, and this must be his revenge. "Well," she thought, "I will not let him away without his knowing just what I think of 'gentlemen' like himself." she told herself, then looking at him and arching her brow she said, "With you, Mr. Darcy, yes, I do."

"In that case, madam, may I enquire what topics I am to avoid?"

"No, I do not believe I shall make it so easy for you, sir." she said, looking straight ahead of her.

"Come now, Miss Bennet, we are friends are we not? We can..."

"Friends, you and I? I think not, sir, for you could not be expected to lower yourself so." she said, feigning shock.

He looked surprised by this and, in his confusion, he spoke unthinkingly. "I am fully aware of the vast difference in our stations, but it can be overlooked." he said, mildly aware that this was one of the unsafe topics she had warned him of.

Her face look somewhat triumphant and he knew why, his words had just proven her point. He could not have sounded more arrogant had he tried. "Is that how the upper classes invite people to their social events?" she teased. "Or is it simply a charitable custom reserved for your own use, Mr. Darcy?"

He still held some confusion over her deceptively playful tone, she seemed serious and angry but said everything with an unaffected air. "Would I be wrong in thinking that we are now moving into dangerous ground, Miss Bennet?" he questioned.

"Yes, you are right, I believe, perhaps we should begin more inane talk of lighter subjects in an attempt to will the time to pass quicker." She replied with a little lilt to her voice.

He chuckled slightly, a sound she had never heard from him, and it made her look back to him. "Well then," said he, "I am already aware of your disinclination to speak of books when dancing, so perhaps we should discuss something as equally substantial but of more current concern. The war in France, perhaps? Or the new 'turn of the century' farming methods?" He said jokingly.

So determined was she to hear derision in his voice that she did not discern the playful nature of his words and, deciding he was taunting her, abruptly snapped. "Because I am so particularly uncouth that I lack genteel, feminine conversation? Or do you wish to feed my impertinent curiosity in subjects which should not occupy a ladies mind?" she demanded.

"You quite mistake me, madam..." he began before she broke in.

"Yes, I believe you once stated that my failings include a defect to willfully misunderstand, though I believe you and I understand each other perfectly well, Mr. Darcy."

"Oh really?" he said, looking down into her eyes for the brief moment the dance brought them together. "I wager Miss Bennet that you understand very little, in fact, of my own thoughts and feelings." he said rather calmly. The dance brought him once again face to face with her and before he could stop himself he said, "Especially not where you are concerned." It was uttered with a husky tone and accompanied by such a caressing look that she was taken aback somewhat.

She moved away as the dance dictated and swallowed to regain composure. "Please, Sir, enlighten me, for I see not how I could misconstrue you so severely, especially when my summation is based upon your own decidedly expressed opinion." she retorted.

"My own opinion? What could you possibly know of my opinion of you? I have never expressed any such thoughts to yourself and certainly none to anyone which could warrant such disapprobation." he stated, beginning to lose his composure to a small degree.

She stopped for a moment in the line, then stepped forward to him and looked up, directly into his piercing black eyes and said in a quite and with a slight smirk, doe eyes and a breathy voice she uttered his very own words from all those months ago; "She is tolerable, but, not handsome enough to tempt me." She stopped, smirked and then continued the steps to the dance.

His mouth fell open slightly before he snapped it shut, his head spun for a moment as he considered the implications but found that his mouth had other ideas. "I did not... I had... I didn't mean for you to... I did not mean it. It was a poor excuse, I hadn't even looked at you, I simply wanted to be left alone." He stammered. "Please allow me to apologise, I assure you that my opinion is quite the opposite to..." he said but was interrupted.

"I do not ask for an apology, sir, I am simply making a point. You and I have, since the earliest days of our acquaintance, shared a mutual dislike of one another, and so there is no need to justify your thoughts to me. I am beneath you in your opinion, as is everyone you look upon in society such as this, and no doubt even some in higher society too." she said with mock solemnity.

He was shocked, shocked and angry. Did she truly believe he thought so of her? He could hardly deny that it had been his first impression and remained much unchanged concerning the people of Meryton, but did she really believe he disliked her? Did she truly dislike him? He was too angry at her accusation to really make sense of it all. "I have not that talent which some possess of conversing easily with strangers." he justified.

"That may be, sir, but you do have quite a talent for insulting them." said she.

"So this. This slight against your pretty face is what founded your dislike? Miss Bennet, I thought you far too sensible to be so prejudice with your judgment. And it is because I did not feed your vanity, as you are used to by groveling young men, I am sure, that you grew such a fixed opinion." he stated.

"Feed my Vanity? I say, sir, you have outdone yourself today. And no, your insult may have furnished my hatred of you further, but it was your inept manners that lay the groundwork of my opinion of you. Your unwillingness to associate with anyone and your clearly supercilious attitude toward us all was what it was built on." she said, her temper flaring.

"And you think this a good enough reason to hate anyone? Surely you cannot deny that you had your impression warped by OTHER influences?" he shot back, now angry at how openly she declared her feelings.

"I knew it." she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper as she stopped the dance once again and stared at him. "You really are here to gloat, aren't you? You know all about my sister and Wickham and what Bingley did for them as well as for my family, and now you are here to remind me of how you warned me against that cad." she said with some surprise. No matter how much she hated him she had not really believed him capable of such a thing, she had still considered him a gentleman, after all. "I had not realised how conceited you truly were." she spoke directly at him.

The music stopped in a sound of fading strings, but, before she could walk away he was at her side and guiding her toward the door, grasping her arm with gentle urgency. Had she been a little calmer, she would have noted the profound effect that his touch had upon her. He led her from the room and into the wide hallway, where several people stood about the place yet none seemed aware to the presence of the pair, although they surely would if they began to argue again. Without consideration but with deft precision, Darcy turned toward a door at the far end of the hallway, bringing Elizabeth with him.

She was silent but as soon as they entered the empty room and she realised just how alone they were and she panicked. "What do you mean by this, sir?" She demanded. "Dragging me off into empty parlors, if we were found do you realise what it would mean for both of us, they'd think we were... we'd be forced to marry." she said, stepping toward him and lowering her voice.

"A fate too cruel for you to consider, I am sure." said he, throwing his arms up at the declaration. He looked directly into her eyes for a moment, they shone even brighter with the flash of anger she was directing at him, and he could not help himself from wondering if that shine would be the same in the throes of passion. He closed his eyes and exhaled a raspy breath before he straightened his back and made for the door. Elizabeth could not deny that the close proximity and privacy which they shared at present was not having an effect on her so it was with no small amount of relief that she watched him retreating. When he reached the door, however, he did something that made her heart race, her head spin, and the rest of her flare with anger.

Darcy reached the door and in one swift movement he turned to key in the lock, spun on his heel to face her and then walked back over to where she stood. "Fear not, madam, your reputation is not at risk, but I will be allowed to defend myself in what you accuse me of." he said with anger rising to the surface.

"Very well, sir, attempt what you will for it would be a miracle at least to be able to justify behavior such as yours." she fired.

He paused, looking at her, he furrowed his brow and crossed his hands behind his back. "I would first begin by apologising to you for the comment at the assembly all those months ago. It has been for some time now that I have held quite a different opinion." He spoke as he stepped towards her, his voice lower now.

"As I said earlier, sir, I do not seek an apology."

"Well, I shall give it nonetheless. And, now, if your dislike of me was not founded from this, then I see no other reason for you to think so very ill of me, madam, you do not give me any chance to prove my character to you."

"I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. You say I did not give you chance to prove yourself to me, but it was my impression of you that you would never deign to prove yourself to anyone. From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners have impressed upon me the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others. This is what gave me my opinion, sir. Did you think that it would go unnoticed, Mr. Darcy? That we would overlook your discrepancies because of your status and wealth?"

He was shocked. Shocked, grieved and outraged. "Did you really expect me to rejoice in the inferiority which was surrounded me? To revel in the manners, or rather lack thereof, of those who were so decidedly beneath me. It goes against everything I know." he spat.

"OUR lack of manners? Pray, tell me what it was that gave you such a decidedly ill opinion of us without even a spoken word to a single person?" she laughed, mirthlessly.

"It was," he began, "the total want of propriety so frequently betrayed by your mother, your younger sisters, and even on occasion your father." he retorted. "You and your eldest sister I must exempt from censure, I can fault neither of you." he said the last with some softness in his voice as his hands fell to his side and he looked at her in earnest.

"You have insulted me quite enough." she said, tears forming. "I see no reason for us to continue in this vein. You have made perfectly clear your own opinion of my friends, my family and, thereby, of myself, and I need not assume anymore." She stepped around him toward the door but he reached out a hand and held her wrist.

Neither moved, they both stared down at his hand and her small wrist before they raised their eyes to each other, they stopped, inches apart and locked in an intense gaze. It was as if her feet were fixed to the ground where she stood and her eyes tied by an invisible line to his, he watched her so intently as he lowered his head slightly toward her. He stopped and, as if catching himself, suddenly inhaled sharply but did not pull back. Instead, his eyes moved slowly over her face, caressing her every feature with his appraising eye and he spoke in raspy tones as he said, "If you believe that," with his gaze moving from her lips to her own deep brown eyes, "then you know nothing of my opinion concerning you." He drew in a deep breath and released her wrist as he looked down at the floor. "Forgive me." Was all he said.

She looked at him for a moment and was confused by what she saw. He seemed... saddened, almost human for that short amount of time, as if he had developed emotions when they stepped into the privacy of that parlour together. She started at the realization that she was still standing, very close now, in a room alone with Mr. Darcy and all other thoughts escaped her. "I, I must go... they will be searching." She said, her voice more curt than she realised, and she moved quickly from his side. She unlocked the door and opened it but, before she left, she turned and stood in the doorframe, and looked over to the broad shoulders of the man before her, they were slouched and his head hung slightly, as if defeated and hurt. She opened her mouth to say she knew not what but did not have time to say or do anything else before her name was called and her mother exclaimed how long she had been searching for her.

~oOo~

That night Mr. Darcy retired early, for he was in no way prepared to sit through Caroline Bingley's inane commentary on the low quality of the wedding, and he had a severe headache, with Elizabeth's anger coursing through him like lightning. He trudged heavily to his room and dismissed his valet immediately as he already began to loose his cravat and discard his jacket across the room. He poured himself a glass of Brandy and sat in the large chair opposite the fire, staring blankly for some moments before thoughts rushed unbidden into his mind. He clenched his fist and slammed it into the arm of the chair. "I have every reason in the world to think ill of you," her voice echoed through his mind. He flung himself up from the chair and began to pace as her words began to flood his mind. "From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit..." He was angry, furious in fact, but then… he stopped pacing... had he been so awful? He had, he knew, done little to recommend himself to anyone when he arrived there, but why should he care if they felt shunned? They hardly deserved his condescension and he was in no temperament to give it. "Your selfish disdain for the feelings of others..." He fell back into the chair behind him and raked a hand through his hair. Was she right? Had he been so... Uncivil... No, that was too mild. He was rude, arrogant, and pretentious. She was right, why, she even knew of how offensive he could be, for she had heard his comment about her at the assembly! He closed his eyes and groaned at the realization and recollection of how she so eloquently repeated his own words with a coquettish grin.

Darcy sat in this manner for some time, exhausted, but pangs of pain and anxiety kept him awake. He was in deep dudgeon, he had irrevocably ruined whatever chance he had with Elizabeth. In his arrogance he had thought she had been enticing him for all those months when in actuality she hated him, even despised him! What a fool he was, he never deserved a woman like her, she was excellent. Another woman would have jumped at the opportunity to ensnare a man of his stature but not her... There it was again, that blasted arrogance! Did he really think like this at all times? He was certainly aware that his Aunt Catherine was disposed to that way of thinking but he thought he was better than that! What was it he'd said to her? "...I am fully aware of the vast difference in our stations but it can be overlooked." No wonder she was furious! "...the total want of propriety so frequently betrayed by your mother, your younger sisters, and even occasionally your father." What right had he to point out her family's lack of manners? She was smart enough to know it herself, and suffer from it as she did, so why had he brought it up? To upset her? To hurt her? He was, in fact, intentionally hurting woman he loved... the woman he loved? "I do love her" he realised. And what an apt punishment it was, to realise it after he had unequivocally and irrevocably ruined any and all chance he had with her.

He sunk into the chair further and drained the contents of his glass. What an impression he had given, from his very first night in Hertfordshire society he had been haughty and uncivil. Yet he accused the Bennets of ill manners? "Ha!" he exclaimed. What sick joke was this, that he was only now able to see the irony of it all? What had become of him? He no longer remembered the last time he had not behaved exactly as he had that night at the assembly. No one had ever thought it anything other than pride, and his pride was under good regulation... He suddenly remembered the conversation he had with Elizabeth when she had stayed at Netherfield. He grimaced, how she must have laughed at him for such a statement!

He sat staring into the fire for he knew not how long. He remembered all of her reproaches and eventually could not find a defense for any as he began to realise the full extent of it. Then he tried to remember all of his own actions since arriving here at Netherfield, but the thought brought him further pain. He could not find a single act of kindness and his civilities were minimal... How had this happened? When had he become so... so... so austere, so unfeeling?

Fitzwilliam Darcy sat there for hours that night as he contemplated the events of his life that had lead him here. He remembered his parents and how they had raised him. They had loved him and each other dearly, they were devoted to one another... Mrs. Darcy never recovered after Georgiana, she was ill for months after giving birth and was barely allowed to see the newborn. She grew weaker each year and drew slowly away from society. When Fitzwilliam came home from school one summer, he was shocked to find his mother's health so changed over the months he had been gone. She was thin, pale and weak. His father was making himself ill with worry, and was having trouble keeping up with the estate as a result. It was then that Fitzwilliam Darcy had his first insight to the role that would one day be his; Master of Pemberly.

When he was not helping his father to manage the estate, he was with his mother or sister. He read to them both, talked to his mother about school and wrote her letters with her. He could see she would not be able to hold on very much longer, and it was almost more than he could bear, for he loved his mother dearly. She was so joyful and ebullient and it was clear to all that she was the light of his father's life. He knew not what he would have done if his father hadn't had him and his sister to worry about.

His mother passed away shortly after the end of that fateful summer, the autumn being much colder than usual and her weakened, frail body not able to withstand it. His father was heartbroken and would never be the same again.

It was therefore no surprise when he passed away only five years later, leaving an 11-year-old girl in the charge of Fitzwilliam Darcy when he himself was but three and twenty. In those few short years, it was said that old Mr. Darcy had become something quite different to the husband and father he was during his wife's life. He withdrew into himself, became taciturn and critical, he never smiled, never ventured into society, never even held his sweet young daughter who bore such a painfully strong resemblance to his late wife. The once young and joyful man contorted into a cold, withdrawn old man in the space of a handful of years. He had always held onto the hope that his wife, Anne, would be able to return to health, and he was unable to confront any other possibility. But since their last summer together, even his optimism had begun to fail him and as autumn crept in he lost any sliver of that hope he had left as he watched his dearest love slip away. It was a circulated fact that Mr. Darcy had died with his wife, and what was left was a stony shell of the man. He was still an excellent master and his honour and duty never failed, but it was all done without a heart. It was this image that Fitzwilliam emulated so well. He himself took the loss of his dear mother, and then father, very hard indeed and, in no small measure, the heart wrenching loss changed him into something akin to what his father had become in his degraded state.

It was this old Mr. Darcy, and not the father he once knew, who had given Fitzwilliam Darcy his final lessons for life. This was the man Fitzwilliam would come to remember and hold as a paragon on which to base his own actions, it was this ill-natured doppelgänger who had taught his son good values and principles but left him to follow them in pride and conceit, taught him the value of being a loyal friend, man and master but never shown him what to value in anyone else. He had told him his duties were to his sister and to Pemberly and its staff and tenants. He instilled in him duty and honour but spoke nothing of love, when he mentioned marriage he simply said to choose well but could not bring himself to say anything more on the subject. Darcy had assumed that choosing well meant to find someone who would enhance the Darcy name, not himself, he had been expecting to someday find a woman of fortune and title who could elevate the name Darcy further. Of course, if that were truly all he wanted then he would have married his cousin Anne years ago.

He sat in silence for some time staring at the fire ahead of him, wondering where the young man he had been in his mother's life had gone. He hated the way his father had practically cut all affection toward Georgiana in his last years, but he was beginning to realise he was doing the very same. He loved his sister deeply but he barely showed her any affection anymore, he had become so withdrawn over these past... "Five years?" he asked himself. Had it really been five years ago that he lost his father? The pain felt so fresh, but the weight of the burdens that had fallen on him made it feel like it has been a century. He sat forward in the chair, dropping his head into his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. Elizabeth was right about everything. He no longer recognized himself, it was like seeing his father after his mother's death, when he had been nothing more than a shadow of his former self and it was painful for all around him. Fitzwilliam could only imagine what pain he'd caused Georgiana through his negligence and his coldness, no wonder she'd run off with that cad last summer! He winced and, throwing himself back in the chair, he realised the consequences of it all, what he'd become and just how much it affected not only his own happiness but also that of all who relied on him.

"I never deserved her," he thought, "but I can at least remedy my own future behavior, take her reproofs and make amends where I can; be a better brother and friend and, yes, even a better master." He sat, contemplating his resolve, his intention fully serious. "...But I can never have her... There I have ruined what chance I had, if ever there was any." His thoughts were broken by a knock on the door, and his valet entered after being bid to do so and he was readied for bed. He thanked his valet sincerely after he completed his tasks and he knew from the fleeting look of surprise that crossed Turner's face just how true Elizabeth's reproofs had been. He hung his head and fell into bed. He would leave in the morning.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The month that held Jane and Bingley away on their honeymoon period passed quickly for Elizabeth, as life at Longbourn began to take on most of its normality, save for the absence of Jane, her closest confidant. But this did not cause so much of a profound effect as she had expected, for without Lydia there, Mrs. Bennet had no one to gossip quite so much to and so even her flighty attitude was subdued. Kitty began to follow Mary and Lizzy's example more and more each day and it soon showed when her fashion magazines were swapped to novels and even sometimes one of Mary's more pious readings. She was much less inclined to gossip and took to joining Elizabeth on her shorter walks, and, as Mary had her piano and Elizabeth her wit, Kitty decided her talent would be drawing, and by practicing several hours a day, she became rather good.

Mary too, finding that the house calmed in the absence of Lydia, sermonized less and grew to be more social. Mr. Bennet, finding that his household took on more of a felicitous air, was drawn out of his study more often and seemed to take a stronger interest in his remaining daughters and could even be found walking in the gardens with his wife from time to time. Elizabeth enjoyed this happy experience of familial serenity and peace, it was calming and made up for her dearest sister's absence.

However, no amount of peace could take away from the excitement Elizabeth felt at the return of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley from their honeymoon tour. They arrived back at Netherfield Park on a Tuesday, and Jane wasted no time in having the carriage sent to Longbourn to retrieve her mother and sisters, with Mr. Bennet joining them later for dinner. The carriage rolled up to the front of the house where a beaming Mr. and Mrs. Bingley stood. Mrs. Bennet practically jumped from the carriage, her recently established calmer nature dissipating in her enthusiasm as she squealed, "Mr. and Mrs. Bingley! Oh how lovely it sounds, my dear Jane..." trilled the lady. "Oh, Mrs. Bingley, of course," she amended. Her effusions were transferred to Mr. Bingley for a short while and Jane greeted the Kitty and Mary happily before she threw her arms about Lizzy, tears forming as the two friends and sisters embraced. The small party went into the house and sat down for tea, Mr. Bingley excusing himself after fifteen minutes to see to business, although not before ensuring that all his new sisters called him by his first name and he called them by theirs. "Goodbye, brother!" giggled Kitty as Mr. Bingley made his way out of the room after placing a chaste kiss on his wife's cheek, a look in his eye which made Jane blush.

The conversation was limited for the meantime, as Mrs. Bennet wanted only for Jane to regale her about the plush carriage and pretty inns or fine jewels from her honeymoon. Elizabeth was able to glean but a very few stories of their travels and where they went during the time. There was a particularly calm moment when Mrs. Bennet was attempting to imagine the magnificence of the carriage her daughter described, which they had recently purchased. Elizabeth took the opportunity to speak to Jane more privately. "Jane, how are you dearest? I know you have only just returned to Netherfield but how is the rest of married life to you?" she asked, smiling as Jane's pretty blush crept up her neck and over her cheeks.

"Perfectly wonderful, Lizzy, Charles is so attentive to everything I could possibly need and want. He spoils me terribly but we are both so very happy! Of course, I miss all of my family sometimes but, I feel so mean to say it, but... Lizzy, I am just so happy with Charles, I can never miss anyone for long." She laughed a little. Their conversation was broken by Kitty's questions on Jane's new wardrobe.

Later, after Mr. Bennet had joined them and dinner was finished, the Bennets made their way into the carriage to go home, Lizzy promising to call in the morning. Jane rushed over to Lizzy and held her in a tight embrace, both sisters knowing that after being away from each other for a time they would usually use the night of the return to sit up and speak privately for some hours. But Jane's nights were now Mr. Bingley's too and Elizabeth was happy for her sister.

The next morning, Elizabeth woke later than usual, so by the time she had eaten breakfast, the carriage had arrived to take her to Netherfield. Jane was outside at the steps to the house when the carriage holding Elizabeth drew up to the house, and she smiled sweetly at the driver, thanking him and the footman kindly. The servants were more than pleased with the new Mrs. Bingley, those at Netherfield knew the Bennet girls from when they were young and those at Bingley's London residence, which they had visited during their honeymoon tour, all loved her immediately. Jane was, well, Jane; always kind and serene and, what's more, Jane was a vast improvement on the previous mistress to Mr. Bingley's homes. Miss Caroline Bingley had sulked quite enough during the build up to the wedding for Charles' liking and arranged for her to go away to an aunt in Bath for a few months before rejoining the Hursts in town, giving Jane a chance to become accustomed to running the house without Caroline's 'assistance'.

Jane rushed to her sister and embraced her then took her hand and led her to the house, "Lizzy, you must tell me all. Mary, Kitty and, I dare say, even Mama, have altered so notably, what have you done?" Jane cried as she led Lizzy into the large, well-lit sitting room.

Elizabeth laughed at her sister. "Oh Jane, I have done nothing to induce such change, you know nothing I could say would have any effect on Mama. It is simply much calmer at home now. I cannot speak for everyone, but Papa and I have found it immensely therapeutic to have such little noise in the house. With Lydia gone, Mama gossips only a little and she even walks out with Papa some days. Kitty and Mary seem to have a very good effect on each other. In fact, Kitty brings Mary out of herself, making her performance on the piano forte rather more confident and altogether more enjoyable, and she also sermonizes a great deal less now that Lydia is gone and no one is flirting outrageously with red coats!" she laughed as Jane looked at her laughingly but partly reproachful. "And Mary subdues Kitty's temper and improves her concentration, her drawing has come along exceedingly well this past month," she added. "But without my Jane and with Papa spending more time with our mother, I have become quite a loose thread." she sighed and feigned a sad longing look before adding, "If only I had married Mr. Collins..." she said wistfully. Jane suppressed a laugh and merely giggled, trying to berate Lizzy for teasing but once one sister was laughing, the other couldn't help but laugh too, and soon the two ladies were clutching at their sides as tears of joy and laughter rolled down their flushed cheeks.

Over dinner, Elizabeth watched as Jane and Bingley looked more in love than ever, the three of them sharing joyous conversation and swapping entertaining stories from the month they were separated. "Well I can't say that I wasn't warned not to trust all street merchants along the coast!" said Mr. Bingley as he told Elizabeth about a scam he managed to avoid falling victim to whilst on the coast with his wife. "Darcy advised me well enough to know what was what and how to avoid any damages to my purse." He laughed.

"Yes, I can imagine Mr. Darcy is one who keeps a tight reign on his spendings, not that it is bad to be frugal, but I also imagine he worried for your outgoings considering the recent strain on your money." she said with a tone, which denoted sarcasm and disapprobation of the man concerned. She then turned herself to face her new brother directly. "Mr. Bi-" she broke off after his reproachful look at her for reverting back to formal titles. "Charles, please, you must allow me to thank you for what you did for my foolish sister Lydia. She would be lost to us and we would have been ruined were it not... for..." She stopped speaking at his awkward looks from the ceiling to his wife, then back down at the table. This didn't look like modesty, it was as though she had missed something, and so she looked to Jane who was holding her husband's hand now and giving him reassuring glances. "I apologize, I did not... Have I said something wrong?" she asked.

Charles Bingley looked to his wife nervously and squeezed her hand for strength, he swallowed hard and then turned to Elizabeth who sat to his left, a very puzzled look on her face as she glanced back and forth between the couple before her. He took a deep breath and said, "Elizabeth, as my sister and closest friend to my darling wife, I think it best you are made aware of the truth of the matter concerning Lydia. You will, after all, run into Darce an awful lot, what with you and Jane and he and I being so close, it's inevitable, he will understand my telling you I'm sure and he may never know in fact, but..." He stopped his nonsensical rambling when Jane squeezed his hand. He gulped and blushed deep crimson. His wife decided to begin for her husband.

"Lizzy, what Charles is trying to tell you is that there is more to Lydia's tale than you think. Charles had every intention of paying Mr. Wickham's debts and he wrote to Mr. Darcy to beg assistance, knowing he had once held an acquaintance of sorts with Mr. Wickham." She looked to her husband for confirmation and he nodded hard. "But when Mr. Darcy arrived the tale of his dealings with Mr. Wickham were much more... serious than Charles had thought." Here Mr. Bingley seemed to find his voice, taking in a deep breath and shaking his head as he stared down at the table, he said, "I had no idea what I was dragging him into." He sighed.

Elizabeth sat in shock, her mouth dropped slightly open as Mr. Bingley recounted all of the doings he knew Mr. Darcy had with Wickham, not, of course, including the most recent affair, Ramsgate, as Darcy had never made this known to his friend. At the details of Wickham's profligate ways and Mr. Darcy's constant efforts to reform him or dig him out of debt, she felt sick, she had been so rude and judgmental. The last time they spoke she had acted abominably. Granted that he was just as rude, but he was provoked as she had accused him so wrongly. Her thoughts were interrupted by Bingley. "…And then when I told him the amounts Wickham was demanding, he insisted to take it all upon himself and..." He was cut off by her cry of shock. "What?!" she said, leaning closer to him in disbelief. "Mr. Darcy! He... it was him who, he..." she trailed off, still staring into Mr. Bingley's eyes in hopes that he might tell her that she was wrong in her thinking Mr. Darcy had paid off Wickham. He did not.

Bingley spent another forty five minutes explaining everything to her as her head spun wildly at the information. When Mr. Bingley began mentioning sums, she felt sick and repressed the urge to scream in frustration, how erroneous her impression of this man had been! A man like the kind she had thought he was would never go to this much trouble for anyone but themselves, yet she had thought him selfish and cold, controlling and arrogant. "And the figures just continued to increase, when they reach twelve thousand pounds I stopped asking, though I know they stretched higher." continued Bingley. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut as she let out a ragged breath.

Earlier in the day, Elizabeth's bags had been sent for after Jane had asked her to spend a week with them at Netherfield as they would be leaving for London the week following. It would be frustrating and disheartening for the sisters to have to say goodbye so soon, but Bingley had business in London and they would have to spend some months there so that he could rearrange business and remain at Netherfield more of the year. What's more, Jane would have to be introduced soon to London society as his wife and he wanted to make everything perfect for her. Elizabeth climbed the stairs early that night. The evening had taken a toll on her senses, her head spun from all she had learned and she felt a dull pain beginning at the back of her neck.

She crawled beneath the counterpane a half an hour later, after the maid Jane assigned her during her stay, Sophia, had readied her for bed. She lay there, exhausted, staring but un-seeing up at the ceiling, as she concentrated her attention on the last encounter she had with Mr. Darcy. He had tried to apologize to her for his rude remark! Ha! He was apologizing to her for a silly slight about not being handsome after he had just paid upwards of twelve thousand pounds to save her foolish sister? And she was insulting him and rejecting his every attempt at friendliness, sure in her mind that he was mocking her. What a fool she was. He had every right to point out her family's faults after what he had done to clean up the havoc Lydia wrecked. He was a true friend to Bingley to have done so much to ensure he could marry Jane, and was clearly responsible, perhaps even taking too much upon him, paying off Wickham and Lord knows what else. She felt awful. She couldn't have behaved worse, he had tried to befriend her. She began to recall some of Charles' ramblings from dinner, he was talking about her and Mr. Darcy meeting often because of her closeness to Jane and His to Bingley. Mr. Darcy had clearly attempted to create an amiable friendship between them so they could meet without any discomfort when around the Bingley's and she had thrown all kindness and civilities back at him and scolded him for his taciturn nature, arrogance and conceit. She groaned as she rolled onto her side and fell into a fitful sleep.

The next few days with Jane were pleasant, but went by in a blurred fashion as Elizabeth recalled laughter, music and little serious conversation. It was not long before Elizabeth returned to Longbourn, on the eve of Jane and Bingley's departure to London. The house was quiet, Mary and Kitty were reading whilst Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were outside in the gardens, the servants were going about daily work deftly and Elizabeth noted the change in their demeanor also, they didn't seem flustered or hasty in the execution of tasks anymore. For the first time in she knew not how long, Elizabeth Bennet was truly glad to be home.

She could not, however she might try, escape the effects of the new information she had received. She had fleeting yet very frequent recalls of all of her encounters with Mr. Darcy, her time at Netherfield, their meetings in town, around Meryton drawing rooms and that fateful day of the assembly. She soon realised that it was that night of the Meryton assembly that formed her first impression of the man and it was her marred pride and slighted vanity which gave her the lasting opinion leading to her willingness to believe so ill of him. With so much time to herself now, she had an abundance of hours to think over the nature of her acquaintance with the stranger from Derbyshire. For that he was, a stranger. She had made no effort to ask him about himself, instead she had formed her own ill opinion of him based on falsehoods and presumptions. He filled her thoughts on her morning walks, in her every day movements and, worst of all, he was always on her mind when she lay in bed, sleep eluding her addled mind. She could no longer silence the thoughts that she had misjudged him severely, nor could she disregard the pangs of regret at her mistreatment of the gentleman. What mortification it must have cost him, as well as the money. Bingley had told her the history between Wickham and Mr. Darcy and she could instantly see the truth in what Mr. Bingley recounted and what Wickham had contorted to suit his own end. She felt so thoroughly ashamed of herself and how willing, nay, wanting to believe she had been.

She felt severely chagrined, but, being of an inherently happy disposition, she did not dwell in her upset feelings and began to fall back into her routines and habits quite happily. She received further cause for joy upon the arrival of an invitation to visit her dear sister, Mrs. Bingley, in their London townhouse in two weeks time. She had declined an invitation a fortnight past to travel with Sir William Lucas and Maria to see her friend Charlotte Collins, nee Lucas. She was in no spirits to travel across the country to be subject to torture in the form of Mr. Collins, but she gave her apologies to Charlotte in a way so as not to sound impolitic and promised to come soon enough. But Jane had written and requested Elizabeth be by her side in her first season as Mrs. Bingley, and Elizabeth could not refuse her sister even if she wanted to. She could read from Jane's missive that she was in fact nervous about entering into the society she would be and wanted support from her sister. "I know you, my dear Lizzy, will have no qualms with making light and witty conversation with those about the society rooms and balls, I dare say you will enjoy it," Jane had written. This Elizabeth had read as a plea for help and a defender against the many women who would no doubt be taking Jane's measure in every way. She did not doubt that Bingley would protect her sister but it was evident that Jane was in need of a friend, a confidant to stay by her side at times when her husband was elsewhere. She resolved to go as it was for her Jane and, if she were completely honest, for herself as an escape from the subjects that currently occupied her mind. Arrangements were made for the departure in a fortnight, and Elizabeth began to feel a modicum of peace for the first night in a long time.

~oOo~

Darcy had been feeling the lack of his friend acutely, without Bingley and with Colonel Fitzwilliam unable to remove himself from the home office or the barracks, he had no one to truly confide in. His resolve to improve his social manner was still strong and he made every effort with his servants and acquaintances alike. He had gone to see his aunt, Lady Matlock, a week after his return to town, and though she had not voiced her surprise at his change in character during his visit, or really his visiting at all, it was evident in her expression. His servants too, though the soul of discretion and fiercely loyal to the Darcy family, were not able to hide their fleeting looks of shock at their usually taciturn master's heartfelt thanks and personal consideration regarding themselves. It did not help to improve his own emotions concerning the matter, it simply amplified the truth in Elizabeth's reproofs and made his heart sink to think of her.

Had he learned of this before he met her perhaps... No, it would not do for him to dwell on it, he had damned himself in that regard, and he would never have Elizabeth Bennet. He didn't truly want to have her; he wanted her loyalty, her smiles, her laughter, her arched wit and for her to turn those stunning eyes on him. He wanted her love and he wanted her to give it willingly to him. "But I shall forever be bereft of all these aspects that are Elizabeth. What I have is her disdain, and rightly so, for in no way have I attempted to inspire any feeling of love or even friendship. If I could only see her, if she could see how I have changed, considered her reproaches, even..." His thoughts were broken by a knock at the door and, awoken from the reverie he chastised himself for such foolish thinking before bidding the intruder enter.

Miss Georgiana Darcy was young and very pretty with an endearing innocence. She had sweet blonde curls and a constant rosy hue to her cheeks, she looked every inch the woman in form. If not for the serene and innocent expression of her face and eyes, she would appear, to anyone who didn't know her, a woman of perhaps one and twenty, not a child of sixteen. What's more, she looked every bit like her mother, elegant and beautiful in an angelic way and it showed more and more each passing day. It was she who had knocked so gently on the study door in search of her brother.

She entered the room and crossed to his desk where he sat. He looked up at her and smiled halfheartedly. "Georgiana, to what do I owe this pleasure?" He asked making an effort to bring his full attention to the conversation at hand, but his voice had a curt edge due to the lack of concentration.

"I..." She stumbled and began nervously rubbing her hands together.

He seemed concerned at her reticence to talk with him, she had been like it for months now. Ever since Ramsgate she had lost some of her confidence and natural trust in others, and so he frowned and spoke more softly, "Is something the matter, dearest?" She looked up at him with a surprised expression that he was becoming all too familiar with. His sweet tone and term of endearment gave her confidence and she dropped her hands and raised her head.

"Fitzwilliam... William," she said, her use of his family nickname indicating the personal nature of her intended words. "You... Are you quite all right? Only lately you have seemed so, so... Different. Not in a bad way, but, you are so very, well... So very... Altered." She furrowed her brow and looked at him intently before her newfound confidence failed her and she averted her eyes again. He regarded his sister for a moment, noticing both concern and curiosity in her look before she drew back into herself.

"Forgive me, Georgiana, I hope you have not felt any ill effects from this change you believe to see in me," he said sincerely.

"Oh no! Not ill effects, no not at all!" She was quick to reassure him. "It is only that, you are being so... Kind lately and even speaking more. In fact you are speaking in public, even our Aunt has told me that when you visited last week you were quite verbose and willing to converse even though Richard was not there. Why, even with myself William, you come and sit with me and talk more and even..." she trailed off when she caught his expression.

He was hurt, it was now that he saw the full extent the repercussions of his actions and manner had wrought. His dear, sweet, loving sister was distant with him, she was nervous around him and he had never set her at ease but instead treated her with cold civility at times like this. He would come out of his shell at times, he knew at Pemberly when they would sit together in the music room and he would hear her play that he was immensely more jovial. But that was so infrequent an occasion, yet it was the only time he was relaxed and open with his dear sister, in fact, it was the only time he was truly a brother and not an authority figure to her.

He looked up from across his desk and saw his dear sister, so young and fragile, so very vulnerable yet always seeking strength. He stood abruptly and, more out of habit than distress, he strode to the window. When he turned back to face her, she was on the verge of tears.

"I'm so sorry, William. I did not mean to pry, I... I... I only... I only wondered if there was some happy news," she managed to say in a whisper. Fitzwilliam felt his heart thud as he watched her retreat far into herself, a look of pained agitation on her face.

"Georgie..." he began as he stepped forward toward the now weeping girl.

"What was that?" she said, a startled look now on her tear stained face.

"What?" he replied, stepping closer to the chair where she sat. Again she began to cry softly as he came closer.

"You haven't called me that, you haven't called me Georgie... since..." she trailed off.

"Since when, dearest?" He said, a pleading look in his eyes as he approached her.

"You haven't called me Georgie since you found me in... since that awful thing I did, I thought you couldn't forgive me. Please William, you must know how sorry..." her sobbing was muted as she buried her face in her hands, willing her tears to stop.

He stopped abruptly as if he'd been struck, he watched as his sister rubbed the tears from her eyes only to have fresh floods gush out. He froze for a moment, unsure of what to do, he felt the overwhelming urge to retreat into himself and stare blankly out of the window. Georgiana let out a ragged sob, unable to hold back her tears, it shook him further and, without thought, he made his way to kneel beside her chair. He looked at her, a mixture of worry and uncomfortable confusion playing within him, worry won over. He took in the sight of his fragile little sister as she wept unrelenting tears of pain, sorrow and worst of all embarrassment, as if crying in front of him should distress her further, she should be able to confide in him, but he knew she did not, not anymore. "Georgiana, no," He said leaning closer. "No you must forgive me. Forgive me for not showing you the care I should have after what happened! I never blamed you in the slightest, Georgie. Never, it was never your fault, never," he pleaded. He took one of her hands and held it between his before he withdrew a handkerchief and went to pass it to her before, on impulse, he tentatively reached up and dabbed at her cheeks then pressed it to her hand. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment afterwards, it was not only the most affection she had received from him in all these months since Ramsgate but, it was the most kindness he'd shown her since their father had died. Another rush of emotion washed over her and brought forth tears of remorse to be added to the turmoil she was suffering. He stood, drew her to him and held her close, he was not stiff or formal and he did not hold back, he wrapped his arms about his weeping sister, her head resting at his shoulder, her arms pinned between their chests and he truly held her for the first time in he knew not how long. They stayed like that for some time, until Georgiana's sobs faded into muffled whimpers and then ragged sighs as she loosened her grip on Darcy's jacket.

Eventually, she lifted her tear-stained face, looked him in the eye and gave him a weak, watery smile. "I have missed you so very much, brother. I had resigned myself to never having your true affection again," she said before wrapping her arms about his neck. He sighed and held her close to him.

At her words he felt a stab of pain and regret shoot through him, he regarded her, so small and gentle in his arms, he remembered when he first held her as a babe and the protective brotherly instinct took effect. "Georgie, my dearest sister, you always have and always will have my deepest affection and if I ever fail to show you the love I feel for you, know it it always there. We have only each other now and I simply cannot bear this world without you." It was in that instant that he realised how she had been pining not the loss of that scoundrel Wickham, but the loss of himself. This realization brought on the sudden, sobering recognition of how he would always pine for Elizabeth, he knew that he would never have her love and affection but he now realised that he would forever wish for it.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you for all the great reviews, they're really encouraging! This is a bit of a filler so perhaps not too significant but I hope you understand, I'll get Darcy back soon enough! I'll try to get the next chapter up mid week, please review, the reviews really spur me one!

Chapter Eight

The sun shone brightly, scattering light through the leaves of the tall trees lining the road, while the grass smelled sweet and the morning dew glistened in the rays of the light. Elizabeth had awoken early, excited to be making her trip to Jane, as she had missed her sister acutely these past few weeks. There was no other with whom she could share her emotions lately, and the turmoil she had been thrown into recently had left her longing to convey them as never before. She could not say what she was feeling; she knew she had been wrong to accuse Mr. Darcy of malicious intent in the attention he paid her at the wedding. She had laid such cruel recriminations at his feet, but she had been convinced that he was there to taunt her and demonstrate to Bingley what a poor connection he had just made. She could not have known that he had been the one to deliver her senseless sister and entire family from disgrace and save them from scandal and the censure of the world. He had been considerate enough not to mention the topic at all, even when Mrs. Bennet had been crowing over how she had two daughters married to such fine gentlemen. He had in fact tried to forge a friendship of sorts between them. "Although not without insulting me first," she thought, conveniently forgetting the provocation of said slander had emanated from herself.

She could not deny that his words had hurt her. He had pointed out every fault that she herself had faced over the years, when she already knew the deficiencies her family so openly portrayed. But to have it so eloquently stated to her and the charges laid so neatly at her door was more than she could bear and it brought her to the unwelcome realisation that, no matter how fervently she wished it not to be so, she actually cared that Mr. Darcy was alive in the world and thinking ill of her. She could not completely condemn herself for her own harsh words towards him, for at the time she felt them in full force and, in her opinion, had been fully justified in voicing them. She could, however admit that had she been less prejudiced in her view of the gentleman she may have been able to have an amiable conversation as it appeared he had tried to. She let out an exasperated sigh. "Hindsight is a wretched torment sometimes," she told herself.

She had hardly forgiven Mr. Darcy, or even really had any very profound change of heart about him, but she now knew that he was certainly not the villain Mr. Wickham had portrayed him to be and he was clearly a deeply devoted friend and responsible to a fault to have taken on Lydia's elopement as he did. In light of such developments, she could hardly maintain what ill-conceived ideas she had formed so early in their acquaintance, but he was still taciturn and disagreeable, arrogant, conceited, selfish... She stopped herself. "How have I come to be so very judgmental of him? Why on earth should I care about his manners? He was not truly as bad as all that, after all he did try to be friendly at the wedding. Surely he has attempted to redeem himself now, should I not allow him that chance? Or rather, I should have allowed him the chance..." She sighed, exhausted by her own whirling mind, and certain that her and Mr. Darcy were doomed to forever misunderstand each other. This musing brought up another question far more worrying than any before. What had he meant by her not understanding his opinion of her? He had seemed to feel so strongly about it, the way he had looked at her, such honesty in his eyes bellying the undertones of shocking vulnerability in his voice. She shook her head and gasped softly as a shiver ran down her spine at the recollection. No, she had not forgiven him, not for his ill manners or his bad choice of words at the wedding, but she realised that she could not find it in her to be angry, or even upset with him. Hurt, perhaps upset by it, yes. But she could not feel anything akin to hatred towards him and with his parting words he had been so... The effect of his touch on her wrist broke into her thoughts and she inhaled harshly at the memory of it, she shook her head to remove the thought from her mind.

She watched from the carriage as the scenery of Hertfordshire passed by. Elizabeth's new brother, Charles, had insisted on sending their most comfortable carriage for her so as to shorten her journey and make it as enjoyable as possible. Therefore it should have been easy, what with the plush cushioning and spacious legroom, for her to find sleep, but she could not. It was not, however, physical discomfort that kept her from rest, but rather how mentally perturbed she was by the situation that most occupied her mind of late. "Well, if and most likely when I see him again, I will endeavor to be perfectly civil." She knew she would have to offer some apology for her tactless words and, in truth, she felt that she should really thank him for what he did for her family. She groaned at the thought. Though she knew she could not avoid seeing him, what with his being as close to Bingley as she was to Jane, she could not help but wish that she could avoid any situation which would actually allow such a private discourse between them. This posed a problem as well as the solution for if she did not have to opportunity to speak privately with him, she would not have to apologies or give thanks, but this would make things very awkward indeed, including for Charles and Jane. "I suppose I could always drag him off to an empty parlour and lock us inside for the tete-a-tete." She laughed. Her feelings fluctuated so severely on the subject that she found too much thought on it was a drain on her energy and she soon fell into a rather fitful sleep.

~oOo~

"So Darce, all is not to your liking? Could it be a pilfering ladies maid running amuck, eh?" Colonel Fitzwilliam, being of a witty and jovial nature, nudged his cousin lightly.

Mr. Darcy closed the ledger he had been poring over and straightened, looking at his cousin seriously and said nothing.

"Oh, do try not to look quite so severe, man, you have been poring over that book of figures for these three hours past, I can hardly see what would hold you for so very long. You are usually finished within the week and gone faster than Boney's troops would run at the sight of Nelson." He chortled.

The truth was that Darcy had spent only thirty minutes of those three hours working on the books, the rest of his time he had spent in agonising awareness of the wound he was nursing and how something as minute as seeing the face of the new Mrs. Collins could reopen the gash through his heart. He and the colonel had called to pay their respects to the parson and acquaint themselves with his new wife, only to find that Mrs. Collins was Charlotte Lucas, one of Elizabeth's dearest friends. The unexpected sight brought on a wave of irrational hope that she might be there, which he promptly chastised himself for, but it was already too late, the hope and then disappointment was enough to throw him into deeper sorrow than he already was. He brought his attention back to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who stood before the desk with a questioning look directed at Darcy. "Forgive me, Fitzwilliam, I find my mind is still very much engaged elsewhere, what did you say?"

"I wanted to know what has taken you so long, Darcy. We've been here nearly three weeks now and you want to stay another full week extra? Good God, man, you usually escape Aunt Catherine's claws within a fortnight." The colonel said in jest.

"Yes, well I do have more to occupy my mind than just Aunt Catherine's finances," he said curtly.

The colonel's good nature and light sense of humour exerted itself, but not before he finished teasing his usually fastidious cousin. "Oh, ho? And what pray tell is it that can so deeply trouble the mind of the stoic and un-bending Fitzwilliam Darcy?" He said seriously. Darcy looked up and threw a glare at Richard that quelled his teasing somewhat. "Really now Darce, you've been even more miserable on this trip than ever, is there something I should know?" He asked now with concern for his friend. Darcy sighed and stood.

"Forgive me, Richard, I have no desire to converse at present." He closed the ledger and left the room, the colonel shook his head. He was worried for Darcy, he had not seen him in such a state since his father had passed. It was when Darcy could not create an effective solution, when he had to resign himself to some cruel fate that he behaved so. At Ramsgate he had been furious and, being a man of action, had put all to rights within a week, but when his father had passed there had been no way for him to fix it. Richard had sworn it was only the fact that Georgiana needed him that kept him going. He only hoped that it would be enough to restore his spirits again this time.

Darcy had been in low spirits for weeks now. He had returned from Hertfordshire some months ago in a black mood and then gone back for the wedding. When he returned to London again after Bingley's wedding, he was misery itself, at least before he had come back and been in a subdued sort of passionate rage, stalking around his study like a caged tiger and growling threats at anyone who challenged him for doing so. When he returned after the wedding, he was a bleak mess, sulking in his study when he was at home, it was clear he was enduring a personal war beneath the stoic exterior. He began to make calls with Georgiana and, possibly most shocking of all, he even received a lot of them. Usually he would take the knocker down for at least two weeks when he returned home and even when it was put back up he would claim work as an excuse to not receive. Richard had seen for himself the change in his friend and cousin. Darcy was an altered man, he talked more and, on the surface appeared to be an engaging and open sort of soul. But Richard could clearly see through the mask and was aware that beneath the gentleman's perfect manners and sincere gratuitous tone was, in fact, a pained and wounded man. He had tried to pry the truth from Darcy and find out what it was that was eating at him, but the gentleman simply demurred and blamed it on exhaustion from his recent exertions. Even Georgiana had not quite seen through the facade, so happy was she to have an increased amount of affection from her brother, but she did notice the pained expression he wore from time to time.

Darcy had been happy to escape the confines of London, and he had been making swift progress with his resolve to improve his social manners, but his success in the endeavor did nothing to quell the pangs of loss that so often overcame him. He was miserable in truth, though he did well to hide it from most, the loss of Elizabeth and the knowledge that he would forever need and never have her was unbearable. Darcy was not being false, deceit of any kind was his abhorrence. No, he was only kind where he truly wished to be, where it was deserved, and he did not suddenly become a pandering fool to every simpering dandy who crossed his path. He was still master of Pemberly and held every distinction that came with said title, but he made a notable effort to be more verbose and less critical and, to his surprise and somewhat dismay, he found that he liked it. He even found the surprised expressions of his peers humorous sometimes, the shock that suffused their faces when he said more than his usual few curt civilities would have amused him if he were not constantly wondering how Elizabeth would laugh at it. For no amount of good natured civilities or even warm conversation could make him forget that the only person he wanted to turn his new found charm on was someone who would take no pleasure from a civil conversation, or any conversation, with him. How fervently he wished that he had seen the error in his ways sooner, before he had gone to Hertfordshire, but he knew that he had needed Elizabeth to point it out to him in order to see it. It simply served as proof of how necessary she was to him. Not having her felt like suffocation at times, particularly when he dismissed any glimmer of hope his heart covertly engendered without his minds knowledge.

It was his cousin, one of his closest friends, who had seen through the friendly manners and social niceties. Richard had come upon him in his study, when Darcy had called again on Lady Matlock, Richard's mother, and Richard had become suspicious when his mother told him that Darcy had come with Georgiana to take tea with Lord and Lady Matlock. Richard wondered if perhaps something was wrong with Georgie and Darcy was looking for him. Upon entering the Darcy house, he made his way directly to the study, though he was not remotely expecting what he found. Darcy was sprawled in a chair turned mostly away from the door, his usually rigid posture slack, his head sunk as if in defeat and his crisply pressed jacket and cravat discarded across the adjacent wingback. He had a glass of brandy in his hand but it looked untouched. Darcy was not one to drink to excess so his cousin seriously doubted that it was more than his second glass, if that, his other hand was clenched into a fist and pressed firmly into the arm of the chair. When Richard silently crossed the room toward Darcy, he witnessed the unguarded vulnerability written in the man's face. Darcy hadn't even noticed his entry or his approach and continued to stare into the dying flames of the fire before him, as he felt the heat diminishing he realised that he must have been sat in this place for hours now, he closed his eyes tight, a pained expression suffusing his features.

It had felt like only a few moments ago that he had sat, willing his mind to relax but the only thoughts that wended their way into his mind were those he wanted to avoid. He had not the strength. Elizabeth was both the poison and the antidote, she plagued and graced his dreams, she was his malady and his remedy.

"Darcy?! Good God man, what on earth is the matter?" Richard had exclaimed.

Darcy's eyes flew open and he stiffened in the chair, arrested by the sight of his cousin looking down at him intently with concern and shock clear in his face. "What?! Richard, when did you arrive, why was I not informed?" Darcy adjusted himself and sat up straight "To what do I owe this visit?" He said more formally.

The colonel looked taken aback at his cousin's swift change in countenance and his immediate effort to direct questions away from himself, he brought one hand to rest on the back of the chair which faced Darcy's and let out a short laugh which intoned disbelief as opposed to humour. "I only just arrived and showed myself in. I came to enquire after you, as you've been labeled quite the socialite and I wanted to make sure that my good friend hadn't become a candidate for Bedlam, playing polite with the ton. I can see my concern was justified." Richard waved a hand over where Darcy sat, gesturing his current state was said justification. He spent the next hour in an attempt to draw Darcy out, but the man was a sealed vault, the progress he made brought him round to agreeing to accompany Darcy a week early to visit Rosings, believing perhaps he'd be more willing to converse after Lady Catherine had driven him slightly more mad than he already appeared.

And so here they were at Rosings park, Darcy having arrived with his new found affable air about him only to have it whisked away after a few days, when he had the shock of finding Elizabeth's friend ensconced within the parsonage and worst of all, he was forced to sit through his aunt's insipid and haughty nonsense. He prayed fervently that he had never sounded quite so bad as her. Eventually he was driven into a sullen mood and struggled to hide it, and though his aunt saw nothing amiss, the new Mrs. Collins and Colonel Fitzwilliam had been astute enough to note some disturbance about Darcy. Richard had tried gallantly to have his cousin talk and share a little of his feelings, but every time he attempted to draw Darcy out, the man would talk about the weather, estate matters or of the war! Richard was getting nowhere with him and Darcy seemed to be getting worse, fast.

When the day came for the gentlemen to depart, it was met with mixed emotions, mostly relief on the part of Darcy and the colonel, Lady Catherine taking the liberty of feeling (and expressing) their sadness on their behalf. Richard bid his adieus to his aunt and her daughter, Anne, before he stepped into the carriage after Darcy. "I cannot say I will miss Aunt Catherine quite so much as usual," he said jokingly. "After all, we did stay an extra two full weeks!" Darcy laughed slightly at this, his temper relaxing in the knowledge that he was departing his aunt's oppressive shadow.

"Yes, I will be relieved to be in London for a few weeks before returning to Pemberly," he said wistfully, "Will you stay at Darcy house for a time?" He asked his cousin, invitingly.

"Will you miss me, dearest?" The colonel said, affecting a coquettish tone and fluttering his lashes. Darcy laughed sincerely, he would miss his cousin, he may not have confided in Richard, but having someone with whom he could converse easily was a great relief.

~oOo~

"Lizzy!" came Jane's sweet call. Elizabeth had arrived earlier than expected, only to find both Bingleys waiting for her in the hall.

"Jane! Charles! How I have missed you both. You look so very happy, I doubt you have missed anyone at all, save for each other when you are in different parts of the house," she laughed.

"Lizzy, how is everyone back at Longbourn? Mrs. Bennet contacts Jane regularly enough, but we don't hear enough from you at all, my dear sister!" Mr. Bingley joined in. The truth was that Lizzy could not think what to write, she had already told Jane of the changes at Longbourn and updated her on everyone's endeavors as frequently as they changed but what more was there to say? Jane knew that should something of import occur she would be the first to hear of it, but Lizzy had little to write concerning herself.

She had been busying herself as of late with various hobbies and projects; she had learned how to take care of the household accounts to some degree, she had learned a great many new stratagems in chess, she had religiously studied some of the old Latin volumes in her fathers library and managed to read tomes which she had thought she'd never master and she studied some interesting political texts and updated herself on current affairs by reading her fathers discarded newspapers. The irony of studying politics was not lost on her and more than once did she find herself laughing as she wondered what a certain gentleman from Derbyshire might think of her hypocrisy. It still seemed, however, that no matter quite how much she filled her time, Mr. Darcy remained in her thoughts to some degree, causing her to fluctuate in and out of a host of emotions.

"Charles, I wonder that you should reprimand me for my lack of attention regarding my letters when you yourself once confessed to very poor consideration to correspondence!" She laughed feigning shock at her brother in law's light approbation. She looked at him warmly and then to Jane as she said "Oh how I have missed you. Both of you! I have been quite lonely as of late." She said.

"Well then my dearest sister," Jane began, leading Elizabeth through to the sitting room, "I fear you will be quite the opposite by the time we're through and rushing back to the quite of Hertfordshire, for we quite intend to take you everywhere this season!" Jane laughed. "Oh Lizzy, it is to be such a merry time with you here, I will not fear London society at all with you at my side." said Jane earnestly as a maid set down the tea things.

Elizabeth smiled sweetly, she had missed her sister acutely and felt that so long as she was with Jane, it mattered not where they were. She was about to say as much when Charles stepped forward. He looked a little awkward and shuffled his feet before he said, "Elizabeth, I hope you do not mind but... What with the season just beginning, and rather extensive number of balls and parties to attend, not to mention social calls, you will need, that is to say, I assume you would want," he stumbled over his words, "I have, after speaking with Jane, I have... and her agreeing to it of course... I have spoken to Mr. Bennet and asked that he might set aside a sum for you to spend solely on... Equipping yourself with... the necessary attire and whatnot." He swallowed hard as he blushed but looked at her steadily. It was not that he was frightened of his new sister, not at all in fact, but he was rather aware of her quick wit and fierce independence, and so felt that his generous but somewhat underhanded interference may be met with a little ire. She looked somewhat taken aback, she had, after all, only recently been helping her father with the accounts at Longbourn and knew the situation would not allow her enough for more than a few gowns and perhaps some lace and ribbons. She smiled anyway and told Mr. Bingley that his consideration was very kind and brotherly, but she would be content to have just two new dresses made up as that was what she had planned for.

Once again though Charles fidgeted as he looked to his wife for support of his cause. He did not worry that Elizabeth would embarrass the Bingley's simply for wearing the same gowns a few times, but rather, he wanted to revel in the innocent pleasure of walking into society with his stunning new bride and his very pretty and charmingly amiable new sister. Quite frankly, he was sick of Caroline's supercilious airs and Louisa's sycophantic fawning and constant compliance with Caroline's every whim, though he would never put it quite so plainly. No. He wanted to see Jane dressed in the most flattering cut of the finest silks and he wanted her to be happy on his arm. What's more, Elizabeth was to be entering the season as sister to the Bingley's and with her charming nature, her beauty and her easy ability to enter into conversation with anyone worth conversing with, Bingley was confident that she would set Jane in with the best of people about the ton and he wanted no impediment to those aims, especially not something as silly as the wrong cut of a neckline.

"Lizzy, I must insist. I have spoken with your father and he has agreed to a set budget... to which I intend to add my own sum and...I am to be in charge of the purchases," he gulped and wrung his hands behind his back. "Jane will of course keep me informed of all that is needed for I do not doubt you may demure somewhat, you are very modest and quite considerate after all and I..." He trailed off as Jane caught his hand. Elizabeth looked back and forth between the two, she was no fool and could only conclude that this was important enough to them that they should not only ambush her with it on her arrival but also press the matter when neither was of a very forceful nature.

"Lizzy," Jane began, "we would be truly grateful if you would accept this. Charles has quite made his mind up and I am looking forward to taking you to the modistes. I have been acquiring my own new wardrobe at the request of my husband and I so look forward to taking you now that you have come!" Jane smiled sweetly at her husband then to her sister she threw a pleading glance as if to beg she would not continue in her attempts to balk Bingley's generosity. Elizabeth was about to retort, a rather witty rebuke sitting at the back of her throat, when she caught Jane's mien. She could never deny Jane anything when she made such a strong attempt at getting it, and if it would make them both happy then she would hardly say no to being spoiled a little!

"Very well," she laughed. Bingley's expression lightened and Jane smiled prettily at Elizabeth. "I will allow you to waste silly sums on my decoration and you can flaunt my impertinent self about the society rooms of the ton." She said in a haughty air before she laughed and took a hand of each her brother and sister and thanked them most sincerely. It was hardly a concession when she was to receive such extravagant gifts, though it did grate on her conscience a little.

"Well Lizzy," Bingley said, eager to redirect the subject of conversation or at least extricate himself from it, "I dare say you and Jane will have much to discuss before the shopping trips begin on the morrow, I will see you both at dinner," he finished and then rose to squeeze his sister's hand and kiss his wife's cheek affectionately.

Bingley's prediction was not proven wrong, as the two women reviewed a list of already accepted invitations and planned evenings to the theatre, and they discussed several styles of gowns and the frivolous accoutrements that accompanied the fashionable frocks. It was several hours later that Jane and her sister emerged from the parlour after reacquainting as two sisters as close as they could be expected to do after so long a separation. They exited the room arm in arm and laughing earnestly as Elizabeth made a mockery of a fashion sketch of a particularly risqué cut of dress which was one of the latest trends. "Lizzy, you are quite wicked to have poked fun at all of the designs, we shall have to select some of these cuts before tomorrow morning if we are to have your gowns ready on time," Jane intoned.

"In time for Friday next you mean?" She asked in reference to the dinner party the Bingleys were to host in just nine days hence. "Jane, I do not see why you worry so about my appearance, I could walk in dressed as the Prince Regent and no one would glance at me so long as I stood close enough to your enchanting self. I think it is very fortunate that dear Charles does not suffer a propensity toward jealousy for, by the time your season is through, there will be no man in London who does not know of your heavenly beauty," she said as she smiled archly.

Jane blushed prettily but had little time to respond and admonish Elizabeth as Mr. Bingley had found his way to meet them and he smiled at the sight of his laughing sister and blushing bride before him. "I trust you have made some progress?" He asked. Both ladies laughed.


	9. Chapter 9

I'm so sorry to all who have been patiently awaiting this chapter! I have been moving house and job so life has been crazy. I'll hopefully pick up the pace soon and we'll be back to normal. I'm going to make a very serious attempt to get chapter ten up this weekend to make up for it too! Wish me luck! And please, please review, nothing is more of an inspiration than knowing that there are people out there reading my ramblings and actually taking pleasure from it! Happy birthday to the woman who has been checking so consistently for my updates, I'm sorry I couldn't get this to you sooner. And to everyone who has been so kind as to review, you have no idea how much it truly means, thank you!

Now, without further ado... (please review!)

Chapter Nine

Jane directed her glance away from the long mirror in the modistes, her cheeks blushing an innocent rosy red as she stood in her stays and chemise whilst the shop girls tugged, plucked, pricked and preened the material and herself. "This gown will be exquisite once we make these final adjustments, Mrs. Bingley. Oh, to have such a model of perfection to dress, it is a blessing indeed, you shall be heavenly," came the voice of Mrs. Williams, the owner of the establishment. Elizabeth certainly did not disagree that Jane's figure was quite perfect but she did wonder if Mrs. Williams joy in dressing her might portend from the size of Mrs. Bingley's account in the modistes as opposed to that of her proportions.

"And you Miss. Bennet," the modiste said, seeking Elizabeth's eyes in the mirror instead of turning to face her, making Elizabeth feel quite like a child caught doing something she ought not. "Shall be regal, for your beauty is more striking and your figure lighter but pleasing, I think," Mrs. Williams stated in a tone which was more mater of fact than seeking to flatter. "In fact," said Mrs. Williams, now turning to face Elizabeth as she walked closer, "please stand, Miss. Bennet." Elizabeth did as she was bid with an internal sigh of resignation. "Yes, I believe we can in fact do much with this, it is your neckline and sleeves which make you appear so slight and I recommend better stays also," she said as she lifted one on Elizabeth's arms to examine her sides, making her feel a little like a horse being reviewed before a sale. "Mary, please see to Miss Bennet's measurements and procure appropriate stays before you begin the gown," commanded the woman to one of the shop girls.

~oOo~

"Mrs. Bingley," came a voice from the door to the modistes as Jane and Elizabeth were preparing to leave. "How pleasant it is to see you," said the woman as her eyes roved over Jane's length in quick assessment. "Mrs. Avery, the pleasure is mine, I hope you are well?" Jane said in curtsey. "May I introduce you to my sister, Miss. Elizabeth Bennet? Lizzy, this is Mrs. Avery, she is one of Miss. Bingley's friends."

The woman, a Mrs. Avery, eyed Elizabeth with a cursory glance and then gave a very practiced looking smile. "Miss. Bennet, a pleasure," she said as she gave a shallow curtsey. "And you, Mrs. Avery," Elizabeth said with a pointed look as she examined the woman in return. Mrs. Avery then gave Elizabeth one last sweeping glance before returning her attention to Jane, whereupon she confirmed that Jane would be attending some one or other of the balls or soirees forthcoming. She did not move from the centre of the shop floor causing the sisters to step around her after bidding their adieus.

"Lord! I wish fashion would not be so fickle, if it would only choose a design and stay that way," Lizzy sighed as she and Jane fell into their respective seats in the carriage. "Then we should never have to spend so very long poring over patterns and then being tucked and sewn into ridiculous lengths of fabric, not to mention being coerced into such contraptions as stays!" She continued, tugging at the newly acquired stay she now wore. "Honestly, such paraphernalia is laughable," she finished as she began laughing with her sister.

"You will not say so for long, Lizzy, even you cannot deny how beautiful you looked with all those silks around you. And that contraption," Jane said pointing to Lizzy's bodice, "is highly flattering," she laughed shyly.

"You will forgive me if I argue that it's merits are too few to trounce it's... disadvantages," Elizabeth replied as she twisted slightly in the corset. "Though I shall grow accustomed to it, I'm sure," she conceded before a mischievous smile tugged at her lips and she added, "besides I am to appear 'regal' and I doubt that a royal should wear a bodice from Mrs. Phipps shop in Meryton," she laughed.

By the time the carriage delivered the women back to the Bingley residence it was late in the day leaving enough time for a short respite before dinner. At the dinner table they discussed the days events, including the impromptu meeting with Mrs. Avery, this seemed to draw Charles' attention, "when did you first meet Mrs. Avery, Dearest?" He asked his wife. "With Caroline, a fortnight after we arrived, she came to call with some ladies," Jane's melodious voice said.

Mr Bingley could quite easily imagine who the rest of the ladies were, knowing the caliber of person his sister had a tendency to befriend, and he did not like the idea of Jane being tied up in such a group. Mrs. Avery nee Swift, up until six months ago, upon the event of her betrothal, was one of the many 'eligible' young ladies his sister approved of for him, she had a fortune of fifteen thousand pounds and not one connection in trade. She was also one of the biggest flirts Bingley had ever had the misfortune to endure for an entire evening and a unscrupulous gossip, she and Caroline Bingley were, no doubt, fast friends. "My dear, I don't wish to dictate with whom you associate, nothing of the sort, but there are some ladies who are... who may..." He struggled to find the words as he cast about for the most politic way of warning his wife against the gossips." Elizabeth could see him floundering, she had already formed her own opinion of Mrs. Avery and, now knowing her to be a friend of Miss. Bingley's, she had a good idea of what Charles wanted to say. She saw him floundering to find the least offensive words and decided that a straightforward approach from her may prompt him along, "I did not care for Mrs. Avery at all," she stated frankly. "Lizzy!" Jane gasped. "She is far too pleased with herself Jane and disapproving of all else and she doesn't hold back on making those opinions known, if I'm not much mistaken," she said lightly. "Lizzy, it is very wrong of you to say, Mrs. Avery is a friend of Caroline," Jane said as she gave an apologetic look at her husband. Mr Bingley grabbed his opportunity, "actually, dearest, Elizabeth is not mistaken, I must admit, though she is friends with Caroline, she has a rather...viscous streak which I would hate to see turned on your kind nature." He took Jane's hand and smiled sheepishly at her. She looked a little shocked by the directness of the statement but conceded to take care around the woman and her friends in future, this seemed to appease her husband as he turned to look at his sister Elizabeth with a gratuitous smile. He was feeling rather confident about this season.

~oOo~

Elizabeth sipped her tea in the oversized sitting room with its extravagant and rather overbearing furnishings, Jane was serene and smiled prettily whilst Caroline peppered her with assiduous compliments and Mrs. Hurst looked as bored as ever, looking up to smile and nod when Caroline asked for her agreement on some one or other of Jane's perfections. The other three or four ladies of the ton, Mrs. Hursts other callers who, if truth be told, had come to call in order to catch a glimpse of the new Mrs. Bingley, were more or less the same; they wore the same style and cut of dress, their coiffures were elaborate and their jewels excessive. Caroline Bingley was attempting to build favour with Jane enough so that she could remain in her brother's good graces, he would soon be be hosting balls and soirees with his new wife and Caroline would be a prominent guest at all the events if her life depended on it.

She could not quite bring herself to show so much deference for Elizabeth, even if she was Jane's dearest sister. She saw this as quite the opportunity to give Eliza Bennet the set down she so rightly deserved, in front of all the 'accomplished' ladies of the ton. If Hertfordshire was where Eliza Bennet was at her best on the battle field of wits, then London was Caroline Bingley's hunting ground. Caroline's best, however, was not all she thought it to be in the face of the 'country miss' whom she had assured all her friends was quite the hoyden.

"Miss Eliza," said she, not willing to address her as Miss. Bennet for the sheer pleasure of pretending indifference. her mouth was smiling but her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer. "How do you find London thus far? No doubt it is quite a change from your usual society." She said, sending a sidelong glance in the direction of the fashionable ladies Mrs. Hurst had paying call. The attention was drawn to the pair, as Miss Bingley had intended. She had her audience. "'Tis a change from Hertfodshire undoubtedly," Elizabeth replied, cautiously.

"Oh yes, quite so. Wouldn't you agree that it has a certain caliber which little towns and counties are devoid of?" She said in with a conspiratorial air.

"It certainly has it's... differences to the country," said Elizabeth, still waiting for Caroline to pounce. For Jane's sake Lizzy had agreed to try to form some semblance of a 'friendship' with Caroline, but that woman was determined to make it difficult.

Caroline Bingley smiled an acidic grin and looked intently at Elizabeth, before she straightened and, regarding Elizabeth with a look designed to show sympathy, but conveying more triumph, said "oh my dear Miss Eliza, do not worry yourself, your country manners differ greatly and lack certain finesse but you will manoeuvre yourself suitably I am sure." At the titter from the group of 'fashionable ladies' Caroline couldn't resist continuing and said, "in fact, I feel that since we are..." She began, "practically related" she said with poorly hidden disgust, "it is quite my duty to guide you." She finished giving her most charitable look, one which made her seem in no small amount of pain. Caroline would be only too happy to enumerate the faults and failings of Miss. Elizabeth Bennet, whether she intended to give instruction on improvement remained to be seen.

"You are too kind Miss. Bingley," said Elizabeth in a tone which conveyed no sincerity, and then, with a sly and subtle smile she said, "what would you recommend? What is the fashionable attitude amongst young ladies of the ton at present?" She said, a knowing lilt to her voice.

If Miss. Bingley were not revelling in the attention and triumph of her conquest, she may have noted how uncharacteristic such a question was from Elizabeth, but, not being particularly astute and giddy from the idea of putting Eliza Bennet in her place she did not and said, "why Miss Eliza, you surprise me! I would have thought you at least knew the fashionable style of comport!" She cried, unable to stop a small laugh of triumph from escaping. But of course I should expect naught from Merytons society rooms to mirror that of London." She smirked and the women beside her exchanged looks of shocked amusement. "Well, my dear Eliza, you have found a most informed advisor in me, I am quite up to date on all the fashions of London and Paris too." She said and then smiled as if the compliment had been payed her by an outside source. "The current style in which to present oneself is indifference," she said as if she had just revealed the answer to one of life's great mysteries. "A lady must not show too much interest or inclination toward anything or anyone yet still address all the civilities, she must appear languid yet still show her figure to its best advantage, it is quite an art you see Miss. Bennet." She said, glancing at the other women.

Elizabeth laughed slightly at this, "it is, then, fashionable to appear bored and take no pleasure from the excitements the ton has to offer? To be so indifferent that you appear to be longing to be elsewhere? I rather wonder at any bodie's bothering to show up, surely it would be the height of indifference to simply forget to make an appearance and later make no apologies." She said, her eyes shining with mischief.

Caroline's smile faltered for but a moment before she said, "oh dear me, I quite forgot how you do enjoy exuberance, your wild rambles through the countryside are quite the proof of that. I suppose you may not understand it being of the nature you are, you may quite forget that I said anything at all. Worry yourself not about the fashionable attitudes, I'm sure your country manners will have their charm somewhere." She said, now rather tactlessly as she sneered a little more openly.

Elizabeth simply smiled, "oh no, I thank you, Miss. Bingley for your advising me. I will have no trouble at all, if I ever find myself in London society rooms and feel the need to appear fashionably bored, I need only think of you." She said succinctly before she sipped her tea and looked away. Caroline Bingley, red in the face and a look of murderous indignation in her eyes, drew breath as though she were about to breathe fire. Elizabeth, more out of pity than anything else, decided she would elaborate her statement in order to save the poor lady some embarrassment and said, "your advice, that is... of course." The amendment caused Caroline to bite her tongue, quite literally it seemed as her face began to look sickly and pained. The group of ladies to Caroline's right tittered and whispered about the development as they regarded Miss. Elizabeth somewhat warily. Caroline's face fell and took on a crimson hue as she heard the laughter at her expense and she looked as though she might say something but Mrs. Hurst, sensing her sister was very likely about to embarrass them all, took her wrist and drew her into conversation on an upcoming ball.

Elizabeth, who had avoided even glancing at Jane for she knew only too well the look of uncomfortable embarrassment she would be wearing, turned now to see her sister. Jane was blushing and looked to be embarrassed on behalf of all persons present. "Forgive me Jane, I do not think I have to ability to bear your new in-laws with equanimity let alone the good grace you do," she sighed. Jane looked at her disapprovingly but with a certain smirk underlying her features as she said, "it was very wrong of Caroline to put you in that position, Lizzy." Elizabeth saved her laughter for later when she and Jane took their leave, for now, she would acquaint herself with the 'accomplished' young ladies.

~oOo~

The following day the Bingley household was inundated with a consecutive flow of deliveries from milliners and modistes as ribbons and silk poured through the door. Despite all her protests against standing stock still as she was pricked and pinned before a mirror with ridiculous lengths of the finest silks and fabrics wrapped about her, Elizabeth could not deny that the gowns, shawls, gloves and various other items were exquisite and well worth the cost and time. Elizabeth lifted a length of silk ribbon from the box and let it slip between her fingers, it was the finest she had ever beheld and she watched it flutter from her hand back into the neatly arranged array of lace, velvet and Charmeuse satin. She laughed at the thought of what her mother would have to say when she returned home with such exquisite items, no doubt she would extol on the beauty of the lace and then deem it too good for Elizabeth, the girl who was so determined to remain a spinster. That, of course, was a falsehood, or at least a stretching of the truth, she had no design or desire to avoid marriage, she simply refused to go about it the wrong way, for the wrong reasons or, worst of all, for the wrong gentleman. If her mother had her way she would be Mrs. Collins right now, she shuddered at the thought. If it was a choice between that and a life as a spinster then she could only see the option of 'old maid' as a blessing. No, she could not find it in her to regret refusing Mr. Collins, if anything she regret having even had the opportunity to do so. She laughed at her own musings then, shaking the thoughts from her head, she called for her maid to help her dress for dinner.

The next morning she and Jane paid call to her aunt and uncle in Gracechurch street, they stayed for lunch whilst Bingley was at his club and left after securing the Gardiners promise to join them the following Friday for dinner. Elizabeth was beginning to grow accustomed to life with the Bingleys; she had her own time and her own private rooms and made a point of giving Jane and Charles time alone whenever they were both unoccupied. She would walk in the mornings through Hyde Park, though it could never replace her dear lanes and fields at Longbourn, she wrote letters, read more than she would have dreamed she would ever have time for and, quite surprisingly, she made a valiant effort to improve her skill at the pianoforte. She continued with her Latin studies, though she had to buy some less than accurate books as her new brother's library was rather lacking and found herself correcting the works more than anything else. All this, however, proved to be enough to keep her thoughts focused on light topics; the books she had read, the stitch she was learning or how long it may take her to master a particularly difficult section in a piece of music and then . She let her mind be consumed by frivolous topics and bored into submission because she was still acutely aware that, if allowed, her musings would eventually turn to topics which she didn't wish to dwell upon, those subjects which she had sought reprieve from. A letter from Charlotte one Tuesday managed to put her into contemplation on these exact topics, she had been writing to tell her about life as a Collins and living under the patronage of Lady Catherine De Bourgh. The depiction of her life could not but turn Elizabeth's mind to considering how she would have borne such a situation, she could only imagine what Mr. Collins considered a marriage if his proposal was anything to go by, and could feel herself physically recoil from the idea of not only sharing a home with the man, but sharing his bed. She shuddered violently and then placed the letter back into her reticule, she sat on a semi-secluded bench in the park, her mind drifting from the present as her attention was drawn back to more palatable points of her friend's letter. She could not help but feel sorry for Charlotte, no matter how much she insisted that she was 'quite content' it was clear that she was becoming increasingly aware of the folly in her choice.

Her mind, given free reign for a time, naturally drifted to other topics she had been avoiding; she was content at present to simply pretend that the past few months had not occurred, that Lydia was being silly and ridiculous at home, not Newcastle, that she and Jane were still together at Longbourn and that her mother and father were equally unchanged. There was something unsettling about the amount of variation which had recently occurred and if she were honest it was because of the change in her, or lack thereof. She was no longer so certain of herself; after her trusting Wickham at face value and then being confronted with the truth of his profligate ways, her confidence in her discernment of character was shaken. After her father's indolent attitude convinced him to snatch up the opportunity of a reprieve from Lydia no matter the possible consequence, her faith in him was crushed. After a sickening display of 'love' from her odious cousin, her hopes at love or even felicity in marriage were dampened severely, not to mention Lydia's disgrace lessening her chances further. And now she didn't even have Jane to truly confide in, not like they used to, there would be no more late night conferences held in each other's chambers, she was no longer Miss Jane Bennet of Hertfordshire, Elizabeth's eldest sister and best friend. No, she was Mrs. Bingley of Netherfield Park and Elizabeth could not complain in the face of her sister's long desired and much deserved happiness. She smiled slightly as she looked out of the park in the direction of the street to the Bingley's townhouse and sighed. There was a decidedly great amount of change around her and it certainly had an effect, but she could not help but notice that the lack of change for and to herself was enough to at least irk her. She was most certainly not idle by nature and found no pleasure in perpetual peace and quiet as her father did, her stagnant situation was beginning to bother her and then and there she resolved to either find or devise distractions so as to keep her recalcitrant thoughts from straying back to such melancholy musings.

Elizabeth managed to fool herself into thinking that by facing such thoughts she was brave, that she had come to terms with what had been bothering her, eating at her and plagued her for so long. But it was, of course, a farce. For what she would not acknowledge, was that there was something, or rather someone, who played upon her mind more than all else, someone who, by some twisted design of fate, he had become irrevocably entwined with her life since that abominable night in Meryton's assembly rooms. In truth, he was never far from her thoughts since Jane and Bingley's wedding, since she had insulted him so thoroughly, but was in fact an enigma which she questioned so frequently that it was no longer odd or even noticed. He had been such a constant presence for so many months now and so involved with the major events of recent that it was difficult to think of anything and not think of him. She had resolved to apologise and extend the olive branch the next time they met, she could only hope that he would accept it and not throw it back in her face as she had done to him, though, if perfectly honest, she rather hoped that they would not have the opportunity to make peace at all. It seemed, however, that fate had different ideas and with its rather sardonic sense of humour created such an opportunity sooner than either party would have expected.

~oOo~

Darcy prowled his private sitting room and stalked to the fire whereupon he kicked one of the protruding pieces of wood with a newly polished shoe. His valet winced as he saw his work dusted with soot and ash and cleared his throat as he approached Darcy with his dinner jacket in hand.

"Thank you. You may have the rest of this evening off, I'll see to myself tonight," Darcy said graciously.

"Very good, Sir," was all the reply to be heard before the valet removed himself from the room with a practiced stealth.

Darcy stared at the flames before him as the valet left the room, "so this is to be the grand re-entry. Ha! Into what? Polite society? The great reunion with my peers and dear old 'friends'," He sneered as the thoughts rushed through his mind of the kind of social engagements he knew to expect and the sort of personage he would be confronted with. After he had been so properly humbled he refused to look down on people who were worthy of consideration, he had seen his error on judging a man by his pocket book or social position but in doing so he changed what he saw as worthy. He had always judged a man by what he could achieve and what he did with his time and by this decided on how much he would trust said man. However, he had made a fatal error in his judgement concerning to what degree he would know this man, a man could be a tenant on his land, John Phelps, for example, a hard working man with a good heart who had been at Darcy's aid whenever needed for business about the estate, he was intelligent and discerning but kind to all and eager to work. This was the kind of man to be trusted and trust him he did, associate with him? Never. This was where he had gone wrong, he knew countless numbers of men who were 'beneath him' because of their circles in society but who he counted among some of the best men he knew. In fact he had actually been audacious enough to consider his friendship with Bingley an act of condescension on his part, of course he rid himself of this idea after a few months in Bingleys jovial company, but he had thought himself rather charitable at the beginning. He laughed a mirthless laugh at his musings, kicking the fire further as he rested his forehead against his fist which was pressed against the mantle. After realising just how few of his 'social equals' he actually held in high esteem for their character and not there status and connections Darcy began to list the names of those outside of his own social sphere who he considered worth knowing and was rather surprised to find the list rather extensive. He made a new resolve then and there; he would not be coerced into acquaintanceships with people who he could not abide simply because they had matching bank accounts or a trivial title before their name. This, however, made his efforts to re-acquaint himself with peers and persons of his social 'ilk' rather unappealing. Oh, he could not condemn them all for simply being rich, just like he couldn't look down on John Phelps for being poor. No, he would go into society and see his fellow man for the person they are then choose to know them or not, and damn their social status.

He stood a little taller upon recalling his resolve, he had always felt ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers; he had not the talent of conversing easily with those he'd never seen before. He found he was inept at catching their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as often seen done. He would not perform to strangers or pretend to be vastly interested in everyone and everything, he would never be a Bingley, but he would make the effort to know those worth knowing.

Darcy may not have pulled himself very far out of the hole of perpetual misery but he certainly had begun making efforts to avoid subjecting anyone else to his petulance. Richard had been back time and time again and it had taken the disarming honesty of his sister to pull him from his spiral into an early demise. He was decidedly ill-prepared to venture back into society, he had barely left the house these past weeks save for business and family demands. He and Georgiana had managed to share more and more time together and began to heal what rifts had been wrought by his neglect, they spoke more and more openly now and he was deeply grateful for it. He shook his head, feeling a little lighter at his thoughts of Georgie, before he sighed and left the room.

~oOo~

Elizabeth sat before her dressing mirror, the young maid Jane had appointed her was discussing the various styles she was best at as she animatedly described the methods she used. Elizabeth listened politely before she demurred and insisted that her usual style would suffice but at the instant look of disappointment on the young girl's face she spoke again. "Well, perhaps something new wouldn't hurt. What would you recommend, Sophie?" The maid smiled and grew twice as animated as before her disappointment. Elizabeth laughed, rejoicing in the young abigail's enthusiasm.

After an hour's deliberation and dressing Elizabeth was ready with just enough time to assess the work of the girl. She stood before the long mirror of her dressing room in an elegant dinner gown, it was one of the first purchases she had made; it had a flattering cut to it and was of a very fine material, it was a pearl white with a deep green overlay of sheer fabric which separated at the front to display the beautiful pale silk beneath. Her ribbons were a pale gold satin and complimented the gold thread which Sophia had woven through her locks and her hair was styled in a way which complimented her face without over being overdone, in short, she looked beautiful. She laughed at her reflection, she looked every inch the lady, perfectly primped and dressed for an evening entertaining guests, she looked just like the women she had laughed about who's first concern was their appearance, followed closely by their pin money. She thanked Sophia again before the now beaming and very proud maid left her alone. She then turned back to examine the woman in the mirror, she tilted her chin up and turned her head from side to side as she assessed herself. She was rather pleased, she had to admit, Sophia was talented and had done well with her hair and dress, she looked rather well, she conceded. She took one last look at her face and, upon deciding that her hair actually looked too perfect, she freed a few curls from the nape of her neck and just above her temple. She laughed at the result as she immediately recognised her own self now in her less reserved state and then left to find Jane. Both Mr and Mrs Bingley were on the landing; Mr. Bingley was leaning in close to his wife who stood just outside of her door and whispering his appreciation of just how stunning his Jane looked. Lizzy laughed to herself and decided to descend the stairs alone before the guests arrived.

She let her hand travel down the grain of the dark wood on the banister as she kept her eyes fixed on her ivory satin slippers, a warm, contented smile lifting the corners of her pretty mouth and her freed curls dancing about her face and neck. There were few sights in this world which could make her happier than seeing her dearest sister so radiant and blithe and her own pleasure in it was evident upon her face as she made her way down each step.

A footman stood at the front door as he took the gentleman's hat, coat and gloves, "I will inform Mr Bingley of your arrival, Sir, if you would like to await him in his study, Mr. Darcy," the footman intoned. Darcy stood stock still, he'd arrived a few minutes early, hoping to speak to Bingley before the rest of the guests arrived, walking through the door which was held open by the footman, he removed his hat, coat and gloves, handed them over and then looked up. He had looked up automatically, there was no noise or sight which prompted it, he simply had and what he was presented with was a sight even his vivid imagination could not conjure up. She walked deftly and silently as though floating, her dress trailed ever so lightly on the step behind her as she descended, giving a fleeting glimpse of her small ankles and soft satin slippers. His eyes travelled up where the fabric rested close to her curves and its colour gave a brilliance to her skin, a pale gold ribbon wrapped around her small waist and drew the eye. Her long, slender neck was caressed by the dark curls which escaped the elegant hairstyle as she bent her head forward to look down at the stairs. Her face, that beautiful, sweet, wonderful, witty face he had missed so acutely was graced with a pink tint to her cheeks and a small, secret smile played upon her perfect lips. He was entranced, nothing could have pulled him from his stupor at that moment, he wasn't even vaguely aware of the footman giving him directions. In that moment he felt a host of emotions wash over him, drowning his senses; fear, lust, disbelief, hope, despair and, most prominently, love. Unequivocal, indisputable and completely irreversible love.

"I will inform Mr Bingley of your arrival, Sir, if you would like to await him in his study, Mr. Darcy," the footman repeated, a little self consciously. Elizabeth's head flew up at the sound of the name, he heart raced and her breath caught, if she were less of a lady she had a few choice oaths which would have suited the situation well. She wasn't prepared; she had thought she would have time to think of something to say, something which would make having to spend time in one another's company bearable. But what could she say, she didn't know this man, her impression of Mr. Darcy had been false, based on a fictitious past devised by a cad and a slight against her looks, which he had in fact apologised for. No, she did not know the man who her family owed their reputation to but she knew she owed him her sincerest apologies, not to mention upwards of twelve thousand pounds. She stopped short on hearing his name and the hand which was so lightly resting on the banister now clutched it for support, her eyes found his from across the hall and her mouth fell slightly open as she blinked through her confusion.

It was her eyes which broke his spell, he had been taking in every inch of her whilst he knew she hadn't seen him yet and though his main thoughts were quite simply on her stunning appearance, there was the cognizant realisation at the back of his mind which told him she had agreed to see him, she was here and must have known they would meet and yet here she was, willing to be in the same room as him. He didn't care if she was indifferent to him, she would see him, she was willing, or so he thought. But as her head flew up and her eyes found his the look of sheer shock on her features dashed those silent musings in a second with a sharp stab in the chest to verily snuff out any lingering hope. His heart pounded so forcefully that he was sure she could hear it, but, being a gentleman, he shook off his disappointed hopes, his shattered dreams, gathered the shards of hid broken heart and found his voice. "Miss. Bennet, I was not expecting to see you, I... did you... Good evening," he said with immense discomfort before he resorted to a very formal but very safe bow. He wanted to put her at ease, let her know that he hadn't come knowing that she was staying here otherwise he would have never put her in such a position.

She heard it quite differently, unfortunately for them both, and assumed he had not expected her presence and had no desire to see her, how could he after the abominable way she spoke to him? He had every right to hate her, she suddenly felt deeply guilty for being there at all. "I am visiting my sister and Mr. Bingley," she said nervously.

"Yes, quite... and the rest of your family, they are well?" He said as he glanced about, unable to look into her eyes for fear of losing his voice again.

"Yes, thank you, Sir."

"And Mr and Mrs. Bingley, I trust are well?" he said, gesturing to nowhere in particular.

"Very well," she said, finally glancing back at him.

"And your mother and father... they are...well?" He shifted on his feet and cleared his throat as if in an attempt to dislodge sane conversation.

Elizabeth laughed gently as she realised the discomfort they were both feeling, she took a deep breath and came to the bottom of the stairs before she spoke again. "My family are all very well, Sir... Thank you," she spoke the last words conscious of just how much she had to thank him for and tried to convey it and her contrition all at once. The effect was strained and confusing, he looked at her questioningly for a moment and she turned her head to look towards the drawing room door, the ceiling, the floor, the candelabra on the table at the wall, anywhere but him. He noticed her evident distress and felt a sharp pain at the reminder of her distaste for him, it was strong enough to pull his gaze from her and back to the footman who stood beside him. "Would you let Mr. Bingley know I am here, please? I will await him in his study," he said to the man. The footman looked a little confused but the expression was fleeting before he schooled his features and replied the affirmative and went off in search of his master, even after 10 years in service he couldn't quite understand the nonsense of the English gentry.

Elizabeth had taken the short time to recover some of her senses and she spoke abruptly, "are you staying for dinner, Mr. Darcy?" her voice was unsteady.

He heard her distress at the prospect of enduring his company and wanted nothing more than to put her at ease, but what could he say? It was too late to decline now. "I am. Bingley invited me yesterday." He swallowed and gave a cursory glance about the hall. "It has been some months since I saw him and..."

"Of course," She broke in. "He thinks very highly of you," she said quietly. "I..." She began a little louder, "imagine the separation is felt strongly, since you've already told me he doesn't correspond very diligently," She said, smiling self consciously with some of her wit returning. She wanted to tell him that she knew how fortunate Charles was to have a friend like Darcy, she wanted him to know that she knew how lucky her family was that he had been there to help them, but she couldn't. She had only just seen him again and things were already difficult enough, she knew she needed to apologise, but not in the opening conversation, surely?

Darcy was perplexed. One minute she was scarlet red and mumbling whilst she averted her eyes in every direction but his and now she was talking as though they were old friends. He stared at her for a moment, confusion on his brows, before he did what seemed to be the most rational thing to do. He gave a curt bow which was more a nod of his head and then walked through the study door, closing it behind himself.

Elizabeth drew in a fortifying breath as she raised her hands to her temples and then exhaled, throwing her arms out, her eyes seeking to ceiling, she then turned on her heal and made for the drawing room. Throwing herself through the door she grabbed the back of the first chair she encountered and leaned her full weight on it. "Lizzy," Jane's voice came from behind her, Jane Entered the room and took her sister's shoulder. "Lizzy, dearest what is the matter?"

"Oh. Nothing, Jane. I am overreacting... Mr. Darcy has come for dinner and I'm finding it difficult to swallow my pride," She laughed at the last statement as she turned to her sister.

Jane knew many things about her younger sister, some she had learned from growing up with her and some Elizabeth would tell her. She knew that Elizabeth had never held a very high opinion of Charles' best friend but her reactions to him were so very volatile that she was sure she had been excluded from an important piece of information. She was prevented from posing any questions on the subject as the sound of guests arriving disturbed their meeting. "Lizzy, Mr. Darcy is a very good man, just look at what he's done for our family. Please try and get along with him, for my sake," Jane pleaded before she gave her sister's hand a squeeze and left the room to join her already waiting husband to greet the guests.


	10. Chapter 10

Hello all, I hope you're still with me! I really must apologize profusely for the delay in Chapter 10, I know I left you all on the edge of a cliff without a rope and I never intended to take so long so for that I'm sorry. I'm not totally happy with this chapter but it is necessary to be a certain way for what I have planned next! Let's crack on shall we?! XXXXXXXXXX Steph.

Chapter Ten

As several of the guests were being welcomed by Mr and Mrs. Charles Bingley Elizabeth slipped out of the drawing room and made her way into the salon, where the guests would eventually be led to. She entered the room, lightly brushing non-existent creases from her dress; she tucked a wayward curl behind her ear and then looked up. Upon doing so she was confronted with a sight she should have expected yet still dreaded. Mr. Darcy stood at the other side of the room with an untouched glass of amber liquid in his right hand whilst his left was clasped into a firm fist and pressing harshly against his lips. He whipped his head toward the door as she entered and watched her in her unguarded moment. Not immediately registering the presence of another, Elizabeth continued her nervous tugs and brushes at her gown until, in exasperation; she let out a sharp sigh and let her hands fall to her sides as she made to survey the room for the most secluded space.

Her breath caught and her eyes widened as she at last realised the presence of another. His eyes were still caught somewhere on her gown before they frantically travelled to her face. They met each other's gaze and held before she broke the connection and looked away taking a deep breath she hadn't realised she was holding. He was brought back to the present by her agitated state and began grappling with his mind for something to say but words would not come. Elizabeth managed to find her bearings considerably quickly as her eyes roamed the wall to her left with frantic agitation for but a moment before she came to gather her senses. As her composure quickly reapplied itself she began to examine the situation in which she found herself. She was stood, once again, alone in a secluded room with this man and the effect was, once again, so profound as to steal from her all of her well grounded wit. This time she could not make the excuse that she was irate with him, or that he had dragged her against her will into such a situation but she could honestly say that the emotions were of an equal magnitude, why, she could not fathom.

She made a furtive attempt to glance his features, his eyes were darting about a far corner of the room, to the floor and then to the glass in his hand and back to the corner again. His jaw was working every so often as though he momentarily found words before they died in his throat. In that short moment where his usual haughty exterior had slipped away she observed a glimpse of vulnerability, he looked... unsure, something she would have never attributed to him before. She knew not what to think; she had prepared herself for his anger, his disdain, even his indifference but what she saw in that moment, his unmasked, and unchecked vulnerability was not something she knew how to approach. He looked as lost as she felt only moments ago and this gave her the strength to lead the conversation.

She took a deep breath as a hundred different polite phrases ran through her mind; questions on the state of the roads, his current trip to town, the weather and, rather ironically, she thought, considering the conversation from the wedding, the war. Not one of these topics seemed apt but neither did simply standing before him and trying to apologise for an argument that occurred months ago and could have been entirely forgotten by him by now, though his current demeanour would suggest otherwise. Lord, what must he think of her? What was it he had said? Something about her not knowing his opinion in regards to herself. Such an ambiguous statement gave no help or encouragement and when mingled with the guilt she felt she could only imagine he held a rather ill opinion of her.

She almost groaned aloud as she recalled the words she threw at him, 'well,' she thought, 'if I can be so very vocal with my prejudiced opinions then it's is only fitting that I can be just as vocal in my contrition.' She felt the conviction in her resolve even if her confidence was lacking.

"Mr. Darcy," she said, her voice faltering slightly. "I believe, Sir, I owe you... a rather weighty... apology." She tried to convey the repentance in her eyes before she went to continue. He whirled his head about to look at her, his eyes were wide and his mouth hung slightly agape, she would have laughed if she did not feel the gravity of the scene so severely. He turned now to face her fully with a look of incredulity and askance. "Sir, I..." She began again taking a tentative step toward him.

Their solitude was broken by the sounds of laughter and murmured speech in the corridor, a warning and rather short chance to regain a sense of normalcy. She let out a harsh sigh and quickly walked to the window at the left side of the room to stare out of it as she willed her mind to calm down. Darcy stared at her as she retreated to the window still stunned into silence as a hundred different questions rushed through his mind. The door opened to allow the interlopers entrance and Mr and Mrs. Bingley led the guests into the salon.

Darcy stared at the newcomers still not seeing as he blinked from the clutch of people to the stiff back of Elizabeth as she stood at the window. Somewhere in his addled mind he registered Bingley's voice and managed to school his senses into a more social expression. "Ah Darcy, there you are, I'd wondered where you and my decanter had run off to, last I checked you were both ensconced in my study." He jested. "We can discuss whatever it is you wish to after dinner if that's alight by you, there is something I should inform you of," He finished in a more conservative tone as he stepped toward his friend. Darcy made some reply of he knew not what but Bingley seemed satisfied so he paid no more attention. The rest of the group made their way into the room and Elizabeth made a discrete move from her post at the far window to the door through which the guests had entered. She silently joined the last couple to walk through the door, leaving said pair to believe she had come in with the rest of the guests and the rest of the guests to believe she had come in behind the couple. 'It was for innocent enough reasons,' she allowed.

It was now that she allowed herself to truly examine the party of guests more closely, she had helped Jane to organise little details but most of the work had been done by Mrs. Bingley and the housekeeper so Elizabeth knew only that the Gardiners would be here this evening and that the Bingleys would be serving lamb. She immediately regretted not having at least glanced at the name cards on the table. So it was that she stood at the back and to the side of what could be considered an intimate group by London's standards; about 18 people including herself. She caught sight of her aunt and uncle at the other side of the room and began to move in that direction. She neared them as her aunt was greeting an older couple and her uncle turned to his right and walked towards the fireplace. She watched in what could only be described as abject astonishment as her uncle moved to Mr. Darcy's side and began conversing. The latter gentleman had, for all intents and purposes, replaced his mask of... she couldn't describe what it was actually, once she would have named it disapproval, but it looked more indifferent now. 'Oh! Why must he be so indecipherable?' She thought.

"Lizzy?" sang her aunt's voice. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Forgive me," she replied, startled by her aunt's address but unable to tear her eyes from the exchange between her uncle and Mr. Darcy. "Aunt, how does Uncle know Mr. Dar..." her voice trailed off.

It is, I'm sure you will agree, dear reader, a rather perverse occurrence when ones question is answered by oneself before it is really asked. But such was the case upon Elizabeth's enquiry to her dear aunt. She looked back to her uncle and Mr. Darcy as they conversed, all ease and friendliness, though the latter appeared somewhat pre-occupied. His gaze landed on her and she quickly turned her back, grasped her aunt's arm and practically dragged her toward a secluded corner.

"Aunt, pray enlighten me; I suspect I would not be wrong in thinking that Uncle and Mr. Darcy were in each other's company often in the efforts to recover Lydia." It was a statement but given as a question nonetheless.

"I had not realised you were told about the circumstances of Lydia's wedding," Mrs. Gardiner evaded.

"Aunt please, I am very much aware, believe me," Elizabeth huffed. "What I wonder at is the nature of the relationship between Uncle and Mr. Darcy."

"Lizzy, you need not be so offended, I'm sure you have your own reasons for disliking him so vehemently but he did our family a great service in this," her aunt admonished. "He seems to think much more of you than you do him I will say," she said, raising an eyebrow at her rather petulant niece. "As to the relationship he and your uncle share it is easily explained. Mr. Darcy, as you know, took the entire 'business' upon himself but your uncle and Mr. Bingley would hardly sit idly by whilst he scoured the streets in search of them. Your uncle and Mr. Darcy were in each other's company most days for the whole day. He was very civil but it was hardly the most fortuitous circumstance though I will admit I can see why you may have thought him proud or perhaps conceited given the displeasure he had to endure," she allowed. "But he was most certainly a very different man to what you described; he seems to improve vastly upon further acquaintance, though in essentials he was ever the same. _Your_ uncle and he have formed quite a steadfast friendship and I trust Edward's judgement without doubt and I must say I agree with _his_ assessment of Mr. Darcy more than you own, my dear."

"He is not _my_ Mr. Darcy, Aunt." She said with a roll of her eyes but still focused on said gentleman.

At this odd claim her Aunt started but hid her surprise rather well. She smiled, Mr. Darcy most certainly did think a lot of her niece, she had seen it in his expression and heard it in his voice when he merely mentioned her, and mention her he did, more often than he realised, she supposed. In truth, she was feeling sorry for his unrequited feelings... until now that is.

"I don't believe I ever said he was so, Lizzy dear," she said casually, giving Elizabeth a sidelong glance. "I can see you think rather ill of him, Lizzy. I know he may at times appear... austere perhaps," she said seriously if somewhat dubiously, but before Elizabeth could make a case either against or supporting this observation her aunt continued thusly; "However, my dear Niece, I must be fair to Mr. Darcy; as of late he has been nothing of the sort. There has been no undue pride, he has been all that is affable and he and your uncle get on very well. Why, he's even all that is good to the children," she laughed lightly.

"He knows the children, _your_ children?" Elizabeth asked in clear shock, finally ripping her gaze from the gentleman in question and back to her aunt.

Aunt Gardiner smiled absently. "Yes, Lizzy, he is terribly good with them; he is wonderful with little James, Susan is determined that she will marry him and Freddie has managed to coerce him into fencing on every occasion," she laughed wistfully.

"Pray, Aunt on what occasions?" Elizabeth asked still shaken by the explanation.

"Oh, dinners, business calls and such," she answered dismissively. The hint of amusement in her voice was lost on usually discerning her niece.

What could she say? There was nothing to ask, nothing to add, not to her aunt anyway. She was incapable of speech for a number of reasons. Again and again the same mess of questions spun her head; why did she feel the misery so acutely? How would she rid herself of this guilt? Why was the effect so very severe? And possibly the most nagging question of all, who was this man who was so determined to take up so much of her mind? Had she misjudged him? She knew she had but had it been such a very severe misinterpretation of his character? Why was he so altered, if he had truly ever been anything different? He was so awful back in Hertfordshire but she heard such varied accounts about him that she could barely make out a single aspect of his character. Had her prejudice lead her to misjudge him so unforgivingly? She could no longer rely on Wickham's report but she had formed her own opinions of the man from the first but were they all based on a slight and his own reticence around strangers?

Her head spun as images of his angry face then his saddened eyes flew through her mind. The thought of Mr. Darcy ensconced in her aunt and uncle's front parlour with five year old Susan coercing a marriage proposal from him whilst nine year old Freddie pretended to call him out, demanding satisfaction and all the while Mr. Darcy sitting and entertaining the toddler, James, sent her mind into turmoil. She felt worse and worse as the guilt flowed through her veins and poisoned her tongue leaving a bitter sweet taste of shame on her palate.

'I must apologise, if only to bring myself relief from this madness,' she silently determined to herself. She tried to imagine what he might say, how he may react; would he be angry, fuelled by hatred with the kind of anger that had lit up his eyes at the wedding? Would he be sad? She was only aware of seeing an emotion akin to sorrow command him once; again it was at the wedding. She recalled the way the burning rage in his eyes had faded into something else, something she did not recognise and then sputtered as the brilliant flame was snuffed by abject misery, his eyes forlorn and then how his shoulders hung before she walked away. 'Or, perhaps', she thought, 'he would be simply indifferent.' This thought seemed to disturb her the most, the idea that he could cause such a tumult of maddening emotions to rise up in her and consume her so wholly whilst he stood unscathed by her own attacks gave her even less solace than the idea that he could be just as affected as she.

Before her aunt could provide any further explanation, their discussion was interrupted by the subject itself. Mr. Darcy walked over to the ladies alongside Elizabeth's uncle, he was, ostensibly, unaffected by the shared trepidation which surged through Elizabeth's mind but in truth, to anyone who knew him and his mannerisms, the subtle, cautious change to his step and the stiffness in his back and jaw would serve as indication of his discomfiture.

It must not go unsaid that both Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were highly astute individuals and rather formidable as a united front, the prosperity of their business proof of this. Therefore the curious exchange which they had walked in on this evening had gone unnoticed by all present save for them, they did, after all, have many years' experience with their dear niece. It would not be the first time they caught her hiding behind doors, though she had been considerably younger the last time they had occasion to do so and never with a young man either. Moreover, they could not help but note the heightened emotions which warred on the face of their newer friend, Mr. Darcy.

"Lizzy! My dear, you must come and finish beating me at the chess game we started last week, I become more and more petulant over it the more I have to look at the board, it sits in my study taunting me! Though it means Darcy is saved from teaching Freddie any further, which in turn means James hasn't the chance to chew the pieces," her uncle laughed softly as her aunt smiled. Mr. Darcy's gaze was trained on Elizabeth in an attempt to gauge her reaction.

"You are teaching Freddie chess?" She asked, still unable to keep the surprise from her voice which was merely above a whisper.

"Yes," was all the reply she was to expect. His eyes were hard and discerning but there was something behind his stoic gaze and stance which spoke of confusion, caution and a silent pleading to boot.

Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner shared a knowing glance as they observed the pair, Madeline Gardiner was happy to allow the two to reach their own conclusions and understandings now that they were in conversation… somewhat. But her husband had a little more mischievous streak which was often bellied by his jovial nature, thus he decided that a nudge in the right direction could only help the pair, not to mention bring a good font of amusement to the conversation, albeit at his niece's and friend's expense.

"Darcy's rather good actually, Lizzy, I believe he could even best you given the chance," he said, glancing at his wife with a hidden smirk. "Though I often rather question his elaborate strategies they do play out well for him in the end… most of the time, that is. I daresay you may be his match." Mr Gardiner was at least kind enough to feign innocence as he pretended not to notice the way that Darcy's mouth fell open slightly and his niece's colour drained.

"It is rather unpolitic of you, my dear, to reveal our friends penchant for elaborate tactics to a prospective opponent," Mrs. Gardiner spoke, her eyes laughing and bellying the censure she was directing at her husband.

Mr. Gardiner chuckled lightly at his wife's half-hearted reprimand. "What would you suggest I do to amend it my dear wife?" his eyebrow quirked almost imperceptibly. "Perhaps tell how our Lizzy has a tendency to attack too freely before assessing all the pieces?" he asked with an air of affable innocence.

Both Darcy and Elizabeth were desperate to regain composure as they stood in mute surprise at the turn in conversation. Elizabeth, in her discomfort, began toying with a loose curl, she longed to make her excuses and remove herself from the conversation but she couldn't do so without raising a number of questions, not to mention seeming severely lacking in manners, something Mr. Darcy no doubt already though she was deeply deprived of.

That gentleman held out no better, his mind was torn in shreds as he longed to simply let loose his tongue and speak to Elizabeth, he so desperately wanted to know what she had meant to say when they were alone, he almost thought she had been about to apologise but that was a ridiculous notion, what had she to be sorry for? He couldn't have such a discussion in their current situation. But apparently his tongue didn't want to have any other so he stood silently as he gazed upon her weaving a lock of hair around her fingers wishing he could walk away and yet desperate to stay all at once. The amalgamation of desires left him in an agitated state but, as always, he appeared wholly unaffected by the turn of events.

Mrs. Gardiner noticed her niece's clear discomfort as well as the stiff posture of Mr. Darcy and while she found her husband's antics and nudging humorous, she also felt sympathetic toward the pair and decided a swift change in topic was necessary and so lead the dissuasion in a less personal but more agreeable direction. The group, by some unspoken agreement, kept their conversation based around mundane topics until dinner was announced whereupon Mr. Gardiner, who was mid conversation with Elizabeth, took the liberty of escorting her to the table whilst Mrs. Gardiner was lead in on Mr. Darcy's arm. Elizabeth could not decide if she felt relief over being rescued from Mr. Darcy being forced to escort her himself or if she was disappointed that she had been robbed of the chance to speak with him, albeit briefly.

~oOo~

Conversation was easy during dinner though neither Elizabeth nor Darcy could feel anything akin to ease at present; Elizabeth was seated at the middle of the table across from a polite, fashionable young couple and with her aunt on her left and an older gentleman to her right. She glanced around the table several times but diligently avoided allowing her eyes to stray to the man on Charles' left. She did not want to look at him for fear of… _'for fear of what? What have I to be afraid of? His censure? Well his censure is deserved,'_ she reasoned. _'Indifference,'_ her mind answered. _'You will not look because you do not want to have to confront a listless regard directed at yourself.' _The thoughts were confusing and unwelcomed so in an attempt to ignore them, as banishing them she found was quite impossible, she began to converse with an alacrity which had been missing since she descended the stairs that night.

It just so happened that the older gentleman to her left was a Colonel, he and his wife had met Bingley last year and formed an amiable tie. Elizabeth fell into easy conversation with the gentleman, a Colonel Martin, whilst his wife, Mrs. Martin, was enjoying her own conversation with their hostess and Caroline Bingley, who sat across the table a few chairs away, though how much she 'enjoyed' and to what degree she 'endured' the latter's conversation is debatable. Elizabeth soon found herself so engrossed in the tête-à-tête that it was only when they broached the subject of the war and her uncle joined the discourse that she recalled the other members of the party. She turned at the sound of her uncle's voice, opening the group to be more welcoming to others.

"You give your opinion very decidedly for one so young," said the Colonel with a faintly reverent smile at Elizabeth.

"When one is confident in their opinions should they not state them freely? How else will one have their opinions challenged and expanded if they do not state them?" She smiled back prettily.

"Well said, Madame. Though there are many who are so very decided in their opinions that they are unmovable. To be able to change one's mind on a subject, especially one so serious as politics, is admirable," said he.

"Provided that one is presented with sufficient facts and reason to alter one's estimation then yes, I would agree that the capacity to do so at will is desirable indeed, if one can stand one's ground firmly then one should also be able to admit their wrongs when necessary and with equanimity," she concluded, thoughtfully.

"You seem to be very adept at being resolute in your opinion yet not so biased as to be closed to new information, Miss. Bennet," the colonel said with a slight bow of his head.

"Rather singular is it not for a young woman to find such a strong, if any, interest in the war is it not?" asked the gentleman across the table addressing his query to Mr. Gardiner.

Elizabeth blushed slightly at this as the colonel turned and smirked nonchalantly at the ironic young man opposite him, she turned to see how her uncle would respond. He wore a similar expression to the colonel but did not look at his niece as he politely answered the younger man.

"Do you not think it prudent that a woman, young or old should be knowledgeable in regards to the politics of their own country, especially when we are in the midst of such turbulent relations on the continent? It would be rather tiresome to have to constantly remind one's wife and daughters why doing things in the French style may be considered unpatriotic," he said with light sarcasm.

Elizabeth gave her uncle a meaningful look but he regarded her with nothing more than a cursory glance from the corner of his eye and a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. As a result her gaze strayed ever so slightly to the right and directly to the part of the table she had been so diligently avoiding. Her eyes immediately met Mr. Darcy's and though it was for but a brief moment the significance of the conversation suddenly dawned upon her; She was discussing, quite animatedly, the war though the last time she had seen Darcy she had acted outraged for his suggestion she would have any knowledge on the subject. She closed her eyes and flushed a deeper shade of pink. Tentatively, she looked back to where he sat again, she met his gaze immediately, he was regarding her with an intent stare, and she was forced to bite back her bitter chagrin.

He noticed her discomfort and the heightening of her colour and concluded that their minds were both returned to that dreadful day at Longbourn. He felt her gaze falter momentarily and panicked, what was he to do? They were too far separated to discuss anything_, 'even the war,' _he thought to himself. He smiled slightly at his musings, there was a little bitterness behind it but that was directed at himself, never at Elizabeth. Her eyes returned to his face and must have caught the expression for she hung her head ever so slightly and cast her eyes down to the table surface. Darcy panicked. He fidgeted, as much as Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy could be expected to fidget, and his eyes flitted briefly to Mrs. Gardiner whose attention was elsewhere. But he found he couldn't look away for long, he looked back to where she was and willed her eyes to meet his. She looked up briefly, tentatively and with trepidation but the moment her eyes met his she lost all sensation of fear and was instead overcome with confusion and relief, confusion foremost, for Mr. Darcy was smiling at her. Not only was he smiling but he was laughing, not aloud of course, but there was such laughter in his eyes and the subtle upturned corners of his mouth that she was taken aback. He looked on cautiously, hoping she would see all his remorse and regret, though she need not forgive him he wanted her to know that he had taken what she said to heart. Elizabeth, however, seemed more discomposed than he had ever seen her, though the thought that he had been the one to have such an effect on her made him giddy, he smiled wider at the thought that he could affect her in any way, his gaze still set upon her.

Elizabeth blinked and leaned forward almost imperceptibly at the gesture. Mr. Darcy was smiling. No, Mr. Darcy was not only smiling, he was smiling at her. As if by automatic response she lifted one brow toward him and his smile deepened ever so slightly. Her confusion worsened but her discomfort lifted; he was laughing at their predicament, he found it entertaining! She was surprised, of course, she had expected him to be incensed, he had every right after all, but he wasn't, instead he was actually laughing at the irony! So shocked was she that she simply held the quizzical expression for perhaps longer than she should as his smile wavered a little. This jolted her and she quickly, but cautiously, returned the smile, the corners of her mouth only upturning slightly. He relaxed visibly, obviously relieved that she hadn't simply disregarded him and continued to smile back at her.

They stayed as such for some moments, both desperately wondering what the other was thinking but finding the experience too precious to alter it even slightly. They only broke the contact when a lady who sat at Darcy's right began talking with him. Elizabeth watched as he spoke to the woman, he seemed to be conversing well but to her he appeared somewhat uncomfortable. She knew him to be a rather taciturn sort of man but watching him now he looked as if he made conversation readily and easily though still reticent to some degree, in fact, it almost looked as though he were making a definite effort. She continued to watch him, ostensibly paying attention to the conversation between her uncle and another man across the table. It was not very long before Mr. Darcy's eye met hers again, he faltered slightly in his speech to the other young lady when he looked up to find her watching him and he had to remind himself to continue. Elizabeth, embarrassed at being caught, quickly averted her eyes and smiled at something her uncle had just said, though what she knew not. It was almost against her will when her eyes strayed back to the other end of the table as if they were drawn to it.

He was watching her as she had watched him only moments ago, the young lady he had been conversing with now talking to the older woman to her left. He did not, however, look away as she had, instead he held her gaze with his brows furrowed as if he were trying to solve something very grave indeed. She hadn't looked away from him, it was enough. He smiled gently, one corner of his pulling upwards & his brows still furrowed, giving him a questioning expression. She looked at him, surprise evident on her face as she realised he was, once again, smiling at her. She tentatively returned the smile and his own grew stronger and his brow less furrowed. She looked away again, this time down to the end of the table where Jane sat, and felt the oppressive weight which had sat on her shoulders up to now lifting. The rest of the dinner passed quickly and with great ease so it was not long before the ladies were leaving the room to gather in the saloon.

Darcy watched her stand, join arms with her aunt and walk out of the room behind the rest of the ladies. He smiled at the door she had just walked through; the dinner had been promising, relieving and gave him an alarming surge of hope.


End file.
